


Trust Issues

by kianisabitch



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Adorable Peter Parker, Anxiety Disorder, Bisexual Peter Parker, Bucky Bear - Freeform, Bullying, Childish Peter Parker, Coping, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, Hair Playing, Homophobia, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, Little Peter, Non-Sexual Age Play, Pansexual Tony Stark, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker has ADHD, Peter Parker is a Good Boy, Peter calls Tony Dad, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft Dad Tony Stark, Teddy Bears, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has Trust Issues, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and gives him juice boxes and treats him like he is four, peter acts like a toddler, peter loves it and explores a non sexual age play dynamic, tho nothing explicit, tony buckles peter's seatbelt and picks out his outfits, tony stark is a helicopter parent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-04-23 14:45:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19153156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kianisabitch/pseuds/kianisabitch
Summary: The boy often wondered if Tony secretly thought he was a toddler. Pink Hello Kitty pajama pants, animated movies, superhero band-aids, bite sized snacks and juice boxes were staples in their relationship. Perhaps Tony was trying to make up for the years of Peter’s life the man had missed the first time around. All the fourth grade science exhibits he never got to go to, watching the latest Disney films in theaters the day they came out, and all the ‘boo boos’ he never got to kiss.ORPeter Parker is a traumatized, bullied teenager who acts far younger than his age and Tony is a helicopter parent who just wants his son to be happy (and not fall off of the bed or get lost in a parking lot when they aren't holding hands or strangle himself while getting dressed).





	1. Hot Chocolate and Captain America Band-Aids

**Author's Note:**

> To make this very clear, this is 110% non-sexual and 120% fluff between a father and his adorable son.

Peter sat curled up like a cat under a mound of three brightly colored fuzzy blankets on the sleek black leather couch in Mr. Stark’s living room. The upper half of the boy’s small body was absolutely drowning in a large, worn out dark blue hoodie. The front of the sweatshirt proudly stated the ‘MIT Robotics Team’, while the back simply read ‘STARK’ in large, white lettering. The sweatshirt smelled like a mix of motor oil and expensive cologne, the most comforting and familiar smell to the boy, and Peter would periodically lean his head down in order to take a tentative sniff of the old fabric.

 

Something about the way the two distinct, yet quite different, scents mingled together made him feel safe. It was like Mr. Stark was giving him a hug, or simply standing behind the boy in quiet support. It helped the boy feel like he was never alone. Whenever he wore the sweatshirt, or any other article of clothing the boy had no doubt stolen from his mentor, he would bury himself in the large clothing and feel protected. It wasn’t like Tony was far larger than the boy, he only had a few inches and a couple dozen pounds on the boy, but the clothing still hung off the boy in fabric cascades and made the boy feel even smaller than he usually felt. 

 

Peter leaned down to smell the fabric once again, gritting his teeth and flinching slightly in pain. Whenever he moved in a certain way, the muscles of his face tightened. The skin was pulled tight, burning at every little twitch or movement the boy made. 

 

Over the past several hours, ever since the boy had made his way to the tower from school, his face had hurt every time the boy moved. The skin around his left eye and under his chin leading towards his neck screamed in protest at even the most minute changes in his posture. The skin rippled and rumbled like a thunderstorm, heavy storm clouds crackling and heavy with pent up moisture ready to be released in a single, torrential downpour.  

 

All across his face, the bruises stood at attention in a multitude of varying colors and hues. It was a painting of dark, somber tones, as if someone had dipped their fingers in ink and then grabbed the boys face between their outstretched fingertips. The hues were colors that normally should not be displayed on someone's skin. 

 

Most were garish purple splotches, roughly the size of a fist, while others were more grayish and finger shaped, but they still looked just as bad as the larger ones. They were all over the left side of his face and creeping down his jaw and onto his chin and the top of his boney neck. They looked like violets growing under his skin, or rather and more realistically, a weed creeping through his blood vessels and under the pale white skin. The bruises sat all across his face, taunting him and contaminating the boy with their ugly and gaudy nature. 

 

When Flash had given him the bruises earlier that day, it had been far easier to ignore the pain. The boy simply scrunched his nose up, in that way he always does when he’s anxious. He tightened his fists and took in several deep breaths, trying to calm down and keep his cool. He had internally reminded himself over and over and over again that he would not use his powers to hurt anyone intentionally, even if those people hurt him first, while he was slammed into cold metal lockers and punched continually by his attacker. 

Now, hours later, when the boy was curled up under a mound of fuzzy blankets on Mr. Stark’s sleek leather couch, the pain of the bruises was far harder to ignore. Not only were the bruises horrible to see, still garish and glinting and fresh looking, the bruises were even worse to feel. 

The bruises felt like meteors striking his flesh. Or perhaps it felt like a thunderstorm was ripping through his entire body, tearing through every edge of his entire being and pushing him to the breaking point. 

 

Peter sighed, breathing in the comforting scents and letting his bruised chin rest on the tops of his bony knee caps. His short legs were pulled flat against his chest while a single arm was wrapped around the warm fabric of his pink Hello Kitty pants. The pads of his fingers ran over the soft pajama bottoms in a repetitive and calming motion. 

 

The pants had been a gift from his mentor from earlier in the year. At the time they were given to him, the pants had felt more like a punishment to the boy. The were a reprimand for screwing up so badly. They were meant to humiliate him, make him feel childish and dumb for wreaking havoc on the Staten Island Ferry and consequently having his suit taken away from him for being stupid and not thinking before he acted. For months the boy had kept the pants curled up in a ball at the back of his closet, refusing to look at or acknowledge them. They reminded him of how badly he had truly screwed up and every time his eyes darted across it, his breath would quicken and the boy would be filled to the brim with anxiety. 

 

But eventually, he had started wearing them more and more as time had passed. The juvenile pattern the boy had once found so embarrassing now made him feel more protected and loved than anything else. They reminded Peter that it was ok to feel small, to embrace being little and just focus on warm hugs and getting his hair ruffled by Mr. Stark’s big hands or receiving the occasional kiss on the head from the man (when Peter was either feeling vulnerable or had done something particularly good). They were the first step in helping Peter embrace the childhood he had never truly had, which had been stolen from the teen when he was far too young to process the morbid facts in his life. It was like a redo for him. But instead of being 5 years old, the boy was now 15 and in a strange sense could enjoy it even more than he was able to the first time. 

 

The fingers of his other hand were wrapped around a large black mug, with a bright red and gold Iron Man logo proudly displayed on the front. Hot chocolate was steaming in little wisps, hovering like clouds inches above his mug. Every time he tipped the drink back, gooey half melted marshmallow stuck to his chapped lips and dripped down the porcelain white skin of his chin, with some landing on the sleek black fabric of the expensive couch. 

 

The couch shifted as Mr. Stark's weight sunk into the pile of fuzzy blankets next to the boy. The man had his own mug in his hands, bright blue and decorated with little spider webs and a vivid red Spider-Man logo proudly displayed on the front half. The mug was also steaming, half full with burning hot black coffee, but little marshmallows still floated in the dark liquid. His goatee had a small amount of marshmallow fluff stuck in the dark hair, but he didn’t bother to remove it. 

 

Marshmallows in hot chocolate were a major comfort for Peter and Tony had quickly picked up on that fact when he had first started to spend weekends over at the tower a few month ago. Everytime he knew Peter was feeling a little down and needed a little ‘pick me up’, he would leave a cup of hot chocolate on the counter for the teen to retrieve when he first got home from school. 

 

The man was a helicopter parent to the max, always worried about Peter’s perceived well being, so he would always find half melted ice cubes mixed in with the marshmallows, just beginning to melt into the liquid of the delicious drink, so that the hot chocolate was always fresh and placed on the counter for the exact moment Peter would arrive from after school or patrol. According to Tony the ice cubes helped cool the steaming liquid down, but Peter just thought it made the drink taste watery. Regardless, it was the thought that counted and Peter secretly loved his watered down hot chocolate. It meant that Tony cared enough to even protect him from the perils of hot beverages. Sure he was 15, but having someone care enough to put ice cubes in his hot drinks made him feel like someone loved him. Afterall, it was the little things in life that mattered. 

 

It always made the boy’s heart soar whenever he saw marshmallows floating in his mentor’s coffee cup. Tony wasn’t a huge fan of sugar, often opting for a savory option, or more often than not to be self destructive and not eat at all for days, but he always made sure to add marshmallows to his black coffee whenever Peter drank his hot chocolate. He claimed it was an act of ‘solidarity’ with the boy’s comfort drink, and those words always made the boy giggle. He knew Tony hated the overly sweet connection with a passion, but he still drank it because he knew Peter liked it when he did. It made the boy feel all warm and fuzzy inside to see his mentor doing something he knew Peter loved, even when he himself hated it. It meant that the man truly and deeply cared about the boy.

 

Tony removed a single lithe hand from where it is was wrapped around the Spider-Man mug. He leaned his nimble body forward slightly, breaching the very corners and edges of Peter’s personal space bubble. His lean arm reached out apprehensively, as if the action itself was asking permission to touch the boy’s mangled skin and tentatively examine the injury. Understanding the silent request the man was asking, Peter nodded quickly with permission for the man to touch him. 

 

The man’s soft fingers gently pushed at the skin spanning under Peter’s left eye. He ran the pads of his fingers, calloused from years of physical work, over the bruised skin. At first the boy flinched away slightly at the touch, but he quickly stopped the movement and continued to let the man prod at him. Even if it hurt, the boy knew Mr. Stark would never truly hurt him. The man cared about Peter far too much for that to happen. 

 

Whenever Peter was hurt, Tony always cornered Peter and made the teen let him run his fingers over the boy’s skin. He had to feel the physical damage himself, run his fingers over bruises and scrapes and cuts in order to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating the boy’s pain. He was always cautious and tentative, as if one touch would break the boy into a million little pieces. He handled Peter like he was swaddled in bubble wrap, protecting him as much as he could from the harsh realities of the world. But sometimes Tony’s protections were not good enough to save him before he was injured, and the teen still often got hurt. 

 

Consequently, the man never let a single bruise, cut, or scrape cross Peter’s flesh without inspecting it with his own two hands. Peter figured it helped the man feel in control, even when Tony knew he had no control over certain situations. It helped him feel in charge, like he could solve the problem or at least acknowledge Peter’s pain in even a small way. By running his hands over the injuries he could feel close to the boy, their energies connected through warm and cool skin mixing together.

 

Peter didn’t mind the man doing it. Never objecting when the man forced the boy to show him the injuries and when his mentor ran his fingers over them, pulling his body every which way to see every angle of the injury. In a small way, he wanted Mr. Stark to be in charge of the things even he couldn’t control. He wanted to let go for once and let someone else care about him unconditionally. For the longest time the boy had been bullied and he rarely had any control of the situation (especially when he didn’t have fancy superpowers to protect himself with) and he always felt helpless in those situations. By letting Tony take charge, he could sit back and let the man try his absolute hardest to make it better for the boy. He didn’t have to pretend to be an adult who had it all under control and who could stand up from himself, instead he could just be a kid. A kid who could watch nerdy movies and get warm hugs from the people he loved and read comic books and just be himself without worrying about any stupid things that were going wrong in his life; things like Flash bullying him or fighting crazy super villains or crying every night for a week because of his anxiety. 

 

“I think we need to talk, kid,” Tony’s voice started out soft and careful, like he was scared of setting the boy off by saying something wrong. 

 

His calloused hand pulled away from Peter’s face hesitantly.  He brought it down to rummage through the pocket of his dark pants, clearly looking for something. Several seconds later, after he had turned out the contents of both pockets, the man pulled out a few crumpled up band-aids. Without truly glancing at them, the man quickly pulled the adhesive from the back of the- unfortunately- Captain America themed bandage. 

 

“I’m really worried about you sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me something happened at school, Pete?” The man’s voice sounded like rain on a spring day or new flower buds peeking out of snow banks. “You know that all I want in this world is to protect you kiddo, but I can’t protect you if you never tell me when something is wrong.”

 

Tony gently applied the bandage to the bruised skin of his face, grumbling when he saw the picture of Cap’s shield proudly displayed on the front of the bandage. It was clear the man had unknowingly chosen a band-aid themed after Steve and that being confronted with the childish paraphernalia made the man uncomfortable in some profound, unexpected, and bizarre way. 

 

But regardless of the man’s discomfort, Tony let his warm fingers linger for a second after applying the band-aid. He traced soft patterns into the boy’s skin, swiping his the pad of his thumb across the mass of bruising on his delicate face. 

 

“Now you can have good ol’ Captain America to protect you, Pete,” Tony voice sounded only half sarcastic as he tapped the bandaid one more time. He then let his fingers fall like autumn leaves from the boy’s face, quickly and with an air of change. “What he’s protecting you from, I’m not quite sure… Steve Rogers is not particularly good at protecting in my experience…” Tony seems to want to continue talking about Steve, perhaps open up about the nature of their relationship. Or tell Peter about the time Steve had left him for dead  and how much it had hurt the older man. 

 

He looked like he was going to pour his heart out and truly open up to the boy. Instead, however, he continued to talk as if nothing had happened and his mind had not been drifting to his strained relationship with Captain America.  “I sure would like to know what **I** ” Tony emphasized the word ‘I’, as if denoting that Steve could protect anyone. “can protect you from, kid. I want to help you, but I really don’t know what’s going on if you don’t tell me.” Tony cocked his head to the side, his dark eyes peering into Peter’s lighter ones- searching for something the boy couldn’t give him. “I promise I can help you out if you just tell me, sweetheart.”

 

Peter stared down into the depths of his mug, watching the dark brown liquid and the gooey white marshmallows melted together. He yearned to tell the man about what had happened at school. He wanted to confide in Tony and let him fix all of his problems; to tell him all about Flash calling him homophobic slurs and how the boy had physically hurt him when Peter had refused to respond to the verbal taunting. But the boy was terrified to tell Mr. Stark about it because he wasn’t sure how the man would react. What if Mr. Stark didn’t want him anymore? What if he was disgusted with Peter’s inability to stand up for himself? What if hated him?

 

Peter felt like he was walking a tightrope. He was balancing on the fine line between safety and love, unsure if his next step would send him falling from the tightrope and plummeting towards the ground.

 

“Hey kid,” Mr. Stark ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately, effectively stopping the boy’s train of thought before he got too carried away, “Don’t get worked up about it. I promise that no matter what it is that’s wrong I can help you with it. I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe Peter, I promise. I’m on  **your** side kid. Don’t mind my language kiddo, but I don’t give a shit about other people. I just want  **you** to be safe and happy, whatever the cost.”

 

Peter started to smile at the sentiment, but then let out a small, disgruntled moan. The boy shook his head adamantly at the man. He didn’t want to tell Mr. Stark anything about what had happened. He didn’t need to involve him in the stupid problems he was having to face. He wanted to keep the good and bad in his life separate, not mix them all together like a storm wreaking havoc on his life. 

 

When the boy looked into his mentor’s dark brown eyes, he couldn’t help but to sigh . Letting out a large exhale of breath, Peter opened his mouth to speak, “It was nothing Mr. Stark…” Peter ran his fingers over the hem of Tony’s large hoodie, “Just Flash being stupid… I promise it was really nothing… I could’ve handled it if I wanted to… I promise… ” The boy’s voice trailed off at the end as if he was scared to continue talking. He hadn’t meant to share that much information with the man and it felt like he was digging his own grave.

 

When Peter glanced up at Tony, he looked like a teapot that was about to boil over. Or rather, he looked a man about to don a metal suit and go on a murderous and revengeful. rampage. His face was the color of fire, dangerous and out of control, and his fists were clenched menacingly. Peter often forget that Tony was a superhero, Usually only seeing a side of the man that was soft, caring, and almost paternal in nature. 

 

Seeing this side of his mentor made his heartbeat quicken and his hands shake slightly. Seeing the boy’s reaction Tony unclenched his fists and tried to make his facial expression appear more calm. 

 

Sitting on the couch, all curled up in Hello Kitty sweatpants and Tony’s own sweater, the boy looked unbelievably small. Peter appeared fragile, almost helpless. They were not traits one would usually associate with Spider-Man, but they did not look out of place on the small boy. There was something so undeniably wrong about the bruises, miserable expression, and small body looking so upset and fearful and downright young.

 

Peter’s curly hair flopped into his creamy brown eyes and stuck up in every which way. His skin was so white it almost appeared to be translucent, and the bruises stuck out like ink blots on stark white paper. Nimble fingers wrapped around the boy’s nerdy mug and it looked like Peter was having a staring match with his hot chocolate. In reality the man knew Peter was trying to look anywhere except into Tony’s own eyes. Out of fear or embarrassment or perhaps apprehension, the man wasn’t quite sure. But regardless, it was clear the boy was not looking at Tony intentionally. 

 

“We don’t have to talk about it now, kid,” Tony’s voice still held the same tone of apprehension and softness as it had before. “But I think May or I might need to talk to your principal about this. I know you don’t want me to, and I know that May is really busy with her shifts at the hospital, so maybe I could talk to him. I’m already your emergency contact on all your school forms, so maybe I could set up an appointment for Monday morning. I know Happy usually drives you on Monday’s, but maybe the two of us could take a trip down there instead. We could get chocolate chip pancakes and chocolate milkshakes on the way from that 24 hour diner I know you love, and then we could head over to the school.” 

 

Peter started to grin a little at the thought of going to his favorite diner on a school morning, but the grin quickly turned to a grimace as he processed what Mr. Stark actually wanted to do. He didn’t want his mentor coming into his school, he didn’t want to be hurt even more for being a little snitch.  

 

Tony could see the boy’s shifted emotions like it was written clearly on his skin. However the man simply continued talking, not wanting to lose his chance at helping the child he loved so dearly. “I know you think it’s nothing, but this,” Tony gestured his hand wildly towards Peter’s bruised face, “Sure doesn’t look like nothing, kid.” The man stopped to clear his throat, “This looks like bullying, sweetheart, and Flash or whatever that boy’s stupid name is needs to be held accountable for his actions. He can’t go around punching people and hurting them and being an overall asshole and getting away with it just because his victims are too nice to report him. He’s manipulating you into not talking because you are too nice and too quiet to make a fuss. But you know what Peter, if we report that asshole than not only will he not be able to hurt you again, but he can’t hurt others either.”

 

Peter knew Tony was guilting him by appealing to his self sacrificing side. Tony was well aware that Peter hated when other people got hurt. He would run into stupid situations all the time with no regard for his own safety, but as soon as someone else was threatened he would protect them at all costs. He hated that Tony knew how to manipulate him so well, but regardless of that fact it was still working. Peter hated putting other people in danger. He didn’t mind when he got hurt, but he drew the line at other people becoming victims of violence and pain. If he could protect others from Flash’s bullying by sticking up and saying something himself, he would do it. 

 

The problem was, Peter truly did not want to put himself on the line in that way. He was already too much of a target at his school to risk making things worse for himself. He knew it was selfish, but he just couldn’t help it. 

 

Peter had been bullied for  **years** . If it wasn’t the dead parents people made fun of, it was his extreme intelligence, or his flaming bisexuality or the fact that he carried a small, stuffed Teddy Bear, affectionately named Bucky Bear (Tony was not a fan of the name or for that matter the human Bucky as well), in his backpack to hug whenever he felt anxious. People at his school either treated him like a freak or a child, and Peter wasn’t quite sure which one was worse. 

 

He was only 15 years old, who cared if he needed a little extra support in some situations or a stuffed animal to hug when he was feeling extra yucky. Peter wasn’t quite sure when the overwhelming urge to act younger than he was truly started. It wasn’t like a light switch had flicked on and boom Peter Parker suddenly acted like a five year old again. It was a more steady process than that. Staring with wearing softer, brightly colored clothing and cradling stuffed animals close to his chest when he felt anxious. Sometimes he would chew on the tip of his pen, feeling the overwhelming need to have something in his mouth, and other times it just felt like his mind was fuzzy. 

 

People at school often made fun of the boy for it, but Peter couldn’t help the way he acted. He was traumatized and this was a better side effect based from his past experiences compared to most of his other symptoms. Teddy bears are much better than dealing with panic attacks. 

 

However, it didn’t help that the boy cried over anything and everything, even when he was at school. He had had a hard life and the teen was prone to cry over the smallest of things. Whenever he was anxious or overwhelmed or just needed a hug, tears dripped from his eyes and down his skin like waterfalls or shooting stars being burned into his flesh.  

 

Even now, tears welled in the corners of Peter’s eyes as they were having this conversation. He didn’t want Mr. Stark to see him when he felt this weak, but he couldn’t help it. He felt stuck, backed into a corner like a wild animal. 

 

“Hey, hey kid… please don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s ok Pete, I promise it’s ok kid.” Tony ran a soothing arm over Peter’s sweatshirt covered arm, rubbing gentle patterns on it. Whispering soothing words to the crying boy, he tried to calm him down before the situation truly got out of hand. “I promise that we can talk about this later instead, kid. I just want to talk to you about it because I care. You deserve better than some asshole bullying you because he’s jealous of you or a bigot, and I promise I will make it better. That’s what  **dads** are for.”  

 

Peter wiped the falling tears from his face with his hand, catching the liquid on the the curve of his finger. He then thrust it out in front of his face and towards Tony’s. “Pinky promise…?” The boy asked softly, his tone tethering with a childlike quality, while wetly sniffling a few times and trying to stop the flow of tears coming from his brown eyes. 

 

Tony’s dark eyes gazed straight into Peter’s lighter ones as he squeezed the boy’s smaller pinky with his own.“Alright kiddo, I pinky promise we don’t have to talk about this until later. But for now, I’ve got Lilo and Stitch ready to play with your name all over it.”

 

Peter rolled his wet, tear-filled eyes at the juvenile choice, but internally cheered. Lilo and Stitch was his shit, and Mr. Stark definitely knew it was one of the boy’s favorite movies ever. Showing him his favorite film was just one way the man kept Peter the happiest he could possibly be. That and always having his favorite snacks (goldfish and apple slices) ready for days when they spent long hours in the lab or for cozy Sunday mornings spent curled up on the couch reading books. 

 

The boy often wondered if Tony secretly thought he was a toddler. Pink Hello Kitty pajama pants, animated movies, superhero band-aids, bite sized snacks and juice boxes were staples in their relationship. Perhaps Tony was trying to make up for the years of Peter’s life the man had missed the first time around. All the fourth grade science exhibits he never got to go to, watching the latest Disney films in theaters the day they came out, and all the ‘boo boos’ he never got to kiss. 

 

Or perhaps the man was simply being an overprotective dad. The ‘baby monitor’ protocol was less than ironically named and Tony often spent hours holed up in his lab, combing over hours of the weekly footage. He was sure to make sure Peter was doing alright and went to impossibly great lengths to achieve this goal.

 

When watching the footage, Tony took extra care to note where on Peter’s body the boy had been injured. When ever he was hurt (regardless of if the injury had already been healed), the man ran his fingers over Peter’s skin in the exact same spot whenever he next saw the reckless boy. After making sure he was ok, he would wrap Peter up in cutesy, fuzzy pajamas; coddling him and hugging him close and unequivocally making sure his kid was physically and mentally alright. 

 

“You know I’m not actually four, right?” Peter giggled softly, his laugh like seashells during high tide, while asking the man.

 

Tony once again ruffled his hair fondly, pushing the curls out of the way to stop obstructing his view. “Keep on telling yourself that, kiddo,” He flicked a single, silky curl between his index finger and his thumb. “Keep on telling yourself that.” 

 

Peter playfully stuck his tongue out at the man, wiggling it back in forth in a taunting manner. 

 

“That’s not exactly helping your case, kid,” Tony teased while queuing up the movie to play on the massive television.

 

“You know you love me though.” Peter quipped back. He tried to make the words sound like a joke, but the phrase sounded more like a question. It was a tentative request for validation and they both knew it. 

 

“Sure do,” Tony said, leaning forward to boop the boy’s nose. “I love you just like you were my own ridiculous, goofball of a four year old son.”

 

Peter laughed, trying to act cool. But his insides felt like they were melting. Tony called him his son, a four year old son, but a son nonetheless. Trying to be nonchalant, Peter replied with a joking, “I love you too, dad.” But the phrase felt more like reality than the joke he had intended it to be. 

The word ‘dad’ had felt foreign, yet familiar all at the same time. He liked the way it felt in his mouth, the way the words formed and gurgled to the front of his mouth. He desperately wanted to say the word again. He wanted to yell it from rooftops until the word ‘dad’ felt as familiar as Mr. Stark’s sweatshirt he stolen and worn almost every school day for a month; as familiar as the smell of motor oil and expensive cologne mixing together, heavy and intimate and burning the inside of his nose. 

 

Tony’s mouth broke into a lopsided grin. The tan skin around his goatee crinkling into  smile lines and tiny dimples that looked like pencil shavings and ground autumn leaves mixing together. Mr. Stark rarely smiled, his depression often consuming his entire being. Often Peter would glance over at Tony when the man was so engrossed in work that he had no idea the boy was watching him. He would stare at the deep set lines of his face, which always seemed to be set in a frown, and at the dark purple and blue bags under his eyes. He also noticed the way his hands twitched as if reaching for something he could never quite grasp. 

 

When Tony spent time with Peter, he seemed to always be smiling. Grins spreading from ear to ear and eyes lighting up in happiness. But it was clear the man was trying to smile when he knew Peter was watching. It was the natural smiles, the genuine, out of the blue, happiest person in the entire world smiles that Peter was after. Every time one flashed across Mr. Stark’s face, the boy counted it as a personal victory. 

 

“You know kiddo,” Peter’s chain of thought halted, as Tony’s unsure voice broke the silence and started to speak, “I don’t mind you calling me that.” Peter looked straight at Mr. Stark, tilting his head to the side in utter confusion. “Dad… I mean. You can call me Dad if you want, Peter.”  

 

Peter’s heart caught in his throat. He had never really had a dad before. His own father had passed away when he was younger. He only had faint memories of the man, the distant sound of a laugh tinkling like sea glass or a toothy smile catching the light of a warm summer’s day. 

After he had moved in with his Uncle and Aunt, Uncle Ben had quickly filled the role of father for him. The man had guided him through his childhood years into the complex years of being a teenager. He had been there for the time the boy had broken his arm after jumping off his bicycle too early after he had first learned to ride, or when Flash had first picked on him and the boy had ran home sobbing. Uncle Ben had always been there for him, until one day Peter woke up and he wasn’t there anymore. Not only was Peter left to grieve, but he was also left without any adult man left in his life to guide and help him.  

 

The past few years after his uncle had passed had been complicated for the boy to navigate. He loved his Aunt more than words could ever describe, but something always felt like it was missing. At first the boy had felt selfish for not feeling like his Aunt was enough. But eventually Peter realized that he just couldn’t help it. The boy simply craved having more love than a single person could provide and perhaps he also craved having father figure.

 

Overtime, Peter found Tony filling that role in his life more and more. From pep talks to the best hugs in the entire world and eating ice cream at midnight and being tucked into bed like he was still a child, Mr. Stark had always been there for him. 

 

The man had never left when Peter had ugly cried all over his expensive shirts when he was feeling overwhelmed, or when he screwed up big time and endangered hundreds of people on the Staten Island Ferry. He didn’t leave when he found Peter cuddling Bucky Bear, or when he had to cover little cuts and scrapes with childish band-aids and lean down to kiss the small injuries better. He helped often with Peter’s homework (especially with the boy’s science classes) and he always bought Peter double chocolate chunk ice cream sundaes when he got an A. But most importantly, he genuinely seemed to love the boy.

 

Like a father, Tony promised never to leave Peter and to protect him at all costs. He stuck his neck out for the boy, held him close when he cried, and put on his favorite comfort movies on whenever he felt sad.

 

Mr. Stark always bent over backwards to make the boy comfortable, to the point where it somewhat felt like it was overkill. Tony Stark was the definition of a helicopter parent, and Peter simultaneously loved and hated it. The man made him wear band-aids when he was barely hurt, threw juice boxes and little bags of Cheerios at him every Monday morning when the boy was leaving the tower for school, and he was only allowed to watch animated or PG rated films.... at age 15. But something about the warm hugs and fuzzy blankets and Dino chicken nuggets made the boy happier than ever been (even if it made him want to strangle Tony for babying him sometimes). Tony babying him made the boy feel like he had a dad for once in his life and Tony was the best dad the boy could ever ask for.    
  


Peter nestled his face against the fuzzy blanket, letting his bruised skin run against the warm material. His lips were pulled up in a lopsided smile, a giggle bursting past his chapped lips. “Alright, dad,” His voice sounded unsure, yet soft and caring at the same time. “I’ll call you dad, but only because you promised to make it better.” 

 

The boy set the mug of hot chocolate onto the sleek black coffee table. Snuggling his face further into the blanket, he settled into the couch to watch the film and focus on the warm paternal figure snuggled up next to him on the couch.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been sitting in my google drive for roughly 3 months 75% finished and I am so excited to be sharing it with y'all. I am super proud of it and I can't wait to share the next chapters as well because it is so cute and fluffy !!
> 
> Comments give me fuel, so please leave some !!


	2. Iron Man T-Shirts and Lego Towers

When Peter woke up the next morning, the bruising on his face was significantly healed.  Yellows and purples and greens faded at the corners of the remaining part of his black eye, like flower petals curling across the surface of his paper white skin. It was aesthetically beautiful in a sense, but Peter refused to find beauty in and romanticize the pain. The boy only wanted to see the bruises in a negative light. They were marks no one should ever want on their skin, because they were painful and represented violence towards others.

 

The lesser bruises from the previous day, the ones that had once creeped down his chin and onto the beginning of his slim neck, were now almost completely healed. If one was not looking closely, the little finger shaped bruises would seem almost invisible to them. They would be forgotten in the past, never to be resurrected in other’s memories again yet still burn bright in his own memory. 

 

In a way, it felt like the bruises had never been there in the first place. His super healing often helped the boy forget his own pain even faster than others could forget. But his bruises faded far faster than his memories and the boy couldn’t shake the memories of Flash looming over him in a menacing manner; fists and insults flying and mixing together in an undeniable sense of homophobic fueled violence and hatred and rage. 

 

On that particular day, the boy had caught Peter wearing a small bisexual pride pin on the corner of his jacket pocket. When he caught sight of the bright colors, Flash had snapped. Ranting on and on and on about how bisexuality was a sin and how Peter was going to hell and how Peter shouldn’t be a slut and just choose a side (the right and only side being female, as Flash had so aggressively put it). 

 

The boy ran his fingers over the brightly colored Avengers themed comforter adorning his bed. He traced the outline of his favorite superheroes faces under his fingertips. One day he would be just like them. He would be away from all the senseless pain and victimization of his own being and simply protect others from the same fate. There would come a point where Peter would no longer need to protect himself. He would be in a better place and could focus all his energy on protecting others. 

 

“Hey kiddo,” Tony’s voice filled the room as the door creaked open and bright light streamed into the space from the large windows in the hallway. The glossy cover of textbooks stacked precariously around the room were illuminated under the light. The turquoise walls becoming warmer, the yellow tones of the paint shining through the cool blues and twinkling at him like a smile. 

 

Tony walked over to the boy’s bed, letting his small, yet muscular, body sink into the soft mattress. Peter was currently sprawled out like a cat over most of the spacious bed, so the man softly pushed the boy’s legs over in order to gain a little more room and sit closer to the kid. 

 

On the crumpled surface of the comforter and sheets, right next to the tired boy who was currently rubbing his eyes blearily, Tony set a few objects down. A little orange plastic bowl stuffed to the brim with honey nut Cheerios and banana slices, an apple juice box and the same half used box of Avengers themed band-aids from the night before. 

 

Mr. Stark rummaged through the box of band-aids, the wrappers crinkling as he clearly looked for an Iron Man themed bandage. When he found one, the man peeled the adhesive backing away and leaned forward to stick it under the Captain America band-aid already stuck on top of the bruise on Peter’s face.

 

“There!” Mr. Stark exclaimed, running the pad of his thumb across the healing bruises, “Now you can have the bestttttt Avenger too, instead of only having that loser on your face.” Mr. Stark winked at Peter and then reached to grab the food. Shoving the bowl of cheerios and banana slices into Peter’s hands, Mr. Stark continued rapidly talking. “Make sure to eat all the fruit kiddo, I want you to get extra strong and healthy and Pepper once told me fruit is good for you. And even though I don’t really eat fruit that often, you should because I want you to be healthy!” 

 

Peter chuckled at Mr. Stark’s protective rambling, but happily popped a sweet banana slice into his half open mouth. “Thanks for the food  **dad** .” He said the word with an apprehension, testing it  out when he was feeling pretty normal rather than crying and feeling like an overly emotional, miserable mess. Not wanting to dwell on the word too long however, the boy quickly added a question. “What are you thinking of doing today?” He then apprehensively added, “I finished all my homework yesterday during lunch.”, knowing Mr. Stark wouldn’t let them do anything fun if the boy still had homework left to do. 

 

The plastic of the straw wrapper crinkled as the boy pulled at it out, struggling to get the straw out. Tony clicked his tongue at the boy, grabbing the wrapper and easily removing the straw. He then stuck it into the juice box, passing to the boy who took a long noisy slurp as he waited for the man to respond. 

 

Tony tilted his head to the side, a mischievous smirk flashing across his features. “Well I was thinking we could go to a certain little boy’s favorite science museum and then maybe some milkshakes and veggie burgers for dinner?”

 

Tony rolled his eyes when he reminded himself of Peter’s new ‘life goal’ of being a vegetarian. A few weeks ago Peter had proudly told Tony that ‘all queer people were vegetarians’. Tony had hotly replied by reminding Peter that he was pansexual as all heck and loved meat. He had followed that sentence with a wink and telling Peter that ‘hamburgers weren’t the only type of meat he liked.’ Peter had been mortified at the comment and consequently had wanted to bleach his eyes out. He was a child of the lord, thank you very much and didn’t want to think about his dad having sex. 

 

Peter however ignored the teasing vegetarian remark, too excited to get hung up on his dad’s teasing. “OMG, are you talking about the New York Science Hall. I love that place Mr. Stark. Can we please, please, please go Dad? Pleaseeeeeeeeeee???” 

 

Peter bounced up and down, cheerios and banana slices spilling all over the Avengers  comforter and little drops of apple juice squirting out as he squeezed the juice box a little too hard in excitement. “I love that place dad, they have like 400 hands on activities and cool exhibits and I haven’t been there in so long and I love black bean burgers and milkshakes and today is gonna be really really really awesome!!!” Peter continued to gush about the museum and Tony grinned, he knew the NY Science hall would be a good idea for today.

 

“That’s exactly what I was thinking kiddo!” Tony was still grinning, “I know it’s your favorite, and we’re gonna have such a fun time playing with all those awesome activities. We can launch the balls and go on the wave simulator or go in that amazing new virtual reality thingy and play with legos and just have a really fun day. It’ll be so much fun sweetheart!”

 

Peter was still bouncing up and down in a hyperactive manner, thinking about all the cool things they would get to do at the museum. “Can we go right now?” He questioned the man, “I wanna go soon, Dad.” The boy tried to make his best puppy dog eyes while he was begging, still bouncing up and down like a kid on a sugar high. 

 

Tony stood up from the bed, smoothing his hands over his black jeans and then anxiously tugging at the hair sitting at the nape of his neck. He then started walking, letting his bare feet drag against the bright teal carpet of the room. He was careful not to stub his toes on the stacks of science textbooks or step on the half made lego sets as he made his way over to the boy’s wardrobe. 

 

When he reached the dark wooden dresser, the man opened the top drawer and ran his calloused hands over the fabric of the stacks of nerdy t-shirts. After several minutes of closely examining each shirt, the man pulled a neatly folded bright red shirt with an Iron Man mask proudly displayed on the front from inside the drawer. The man then moved onto a lower drawer, choosing a pair of light tan cargo shorts far sooner than he had chosen the shirt. Finally, the man grabbed a pair of bright green hulk boxer briefs, baby blue socks from the top drawer and a worn pair of white converse sneakers (with hand drawn doodles on the side from both Tony and Peter) from their spot propped against the dresser. 

 

Peter wrinkled his nose when Tony set the clothing down on the bed among the pile of spilled Cheerios and fruit. The waistband of the cargo shorts were all bunched up and elastic, somewhat looking like pants meant for toddlers and it was embarrassing to wear an Iron Man shirt when he was around Tony. 

 

“Don’t wrinkle your nose at me, young man.” Mr. Stark sarcastically chided, “I could always help you get dressed into some even younger clothing if you aren’t happy with what I choose for you. I could have you lift your arms up and get you nice and cosy and everything. I’m pretty good at tying shoelaces if I do say so myself and I’m the boss at helping little brats put their socks on.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes at the mans gentle teasing. He liked to think he hated when Mr. Stark babied him so much, picking out his outfits or planning his meals or simply making sure everything was perfect for his ‘perfect boy’. But the boy knew that deep down in his subconscious, he secretly liked it. He didn’t mind the babying because he just wanted to feel loved. 

 

Tony groaned, sensing the boy’s slight displeasure at being babied. “I just want to help my kid Pete, is that too much to ask for?” Mr. Stark asked him indignantly. “What if you got stuck or accidentally strangled yourself on your shirt or fell over or needed help or something and I wasn’t there for you?” His voice then got even deeper and more serious, “I need to be there for you, Pete.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes, but quickly stopped and stood up, understanding that Mr. Stark truly did care and wasn’t trying to antagonize him. He grabbed the stack of clothing from the bed and went to push Tony out of his room. It didn’t work practically well, seeing as Peter was far smaller than Tony in both height and weight, as well as sheer muscle mass. The man wasn’t particularly large, but Peter was absolutely tiny. 

 

However, Tony knew Peter needed space and he let the boy push him out of the room while saying, “Let me get dressed by myself, I promise I won’t get stuck or strangle myself or anything Mr. Stark. I’m a big boy.” 

 

Tony looked as if he was going to complain at first, but eventually he quickly gave in and let the boy push him out of the room and into the hallway. “Get dressed quick like a bunny Peter, I want to make it to Queens before rush hour and it’s Saturday morning so traffic is definitely going to be bad.”

 

“I know Dad!!” Peter called through the door, already pulling the hulk underwear and  offending elastic shorts up his legs, thrusting his middle finger at the door in the direction of Mr Stark when the elastic snapped around his waist in a snug manner, and shrugging the red Iron Man shirt onto his skinny torso. 

 

The New York Science Hall was his favorite childhood museum in the entire world. When he was younger, his Aunt and Uncle took him there whenever they had money for the somewhat high admission fee. They would let him run around to his heart's content and play with  the hundreds of hands on activities for hours, making a muck and being his nerdiest self without fear of judgement from his peers. 

 

Even when he was a child, his peers teased him for being a nerd. May and Ben had countered the negative attention for his intelligence by always letting the boy flaunt it while around them. Peter felt lucky to have had an Aunt and Uncle who valued his curiosity and love for science so much, nurturing it from the time he was a small child. He was always allowed to ask and explore and discover, as long as he was polite and respectful. 

 

When Tony had discovered the museum was Peter’s childhood favorite, the man had started taking him whenever the boy felt down or upset. It was yet another way the man babied Peter, but this time Peter didn’t really mind it. When super duper fun science activities were involved, Peter never minded being treated like he was smaller than he truly was. In fact, Peter liked it in some strange way. He loved feeling small and loved, and Tony did an exceptional job at making him feel that way.    

 

When Peter finished lacing up his converse, after smoothing over his bright blue socks, he glanced in the mirror briefly. The way the shorts hugged his hips, the shirt flipping up at the end to show off the waistband, and the primary blue socks almost reaching just below his knees made him look like he was six years old. It didn’t help that the boy was exceptionally short, his hair fluffy and messy like a child, his smile lopsided and his heart bigger than his chest. 

 

Finished looking in the mirror, the boy headed out to the living area of Mr. Stark’s personal floor of the tower. Sun streamed into the room from the large, head to ceiling windows.  Tony was currently sitting on the leather couch, his legs crossed and he was frantically typing away at his computer in order to finish up some last minute work before their excursion began. 

 

Not wanting to interrupt the man, Peter awkwardly stood several feet behind the couch. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet like an impatient toddler. He pulled at the hem of his bright red shirt every few seconds, exposing the stupid waistband of his tan cargo shorts. He used his other hand to pull at his curls, flipping them every which way and pulling them til they fell just a little bit straighter. 

 

He didn’t want to interrupt his Dad while he was working. He knew what Mr. Stark did was important, probably more important than spending time a stupid little kid like him. But he was still impatient to get started on their drive to the museum and maybe, just maybe Mr. Stark wouldn’t mind if they spent time together.  

 

Several minutes later, after wearing a hole into the carpet by bouncing up and down and when the boy could no longer keep his excitement contained, Peter let out a low, disgruntled whine. Tony’s head snapped up when he heard the sound. When he saw the boy Tony scrambled up from the couch, gently placing the laptop to the side and rushing over to stand next to the small boy. 

 

“How long have you been standing there?” The man questioned, catching Peter’s hand in his own and stopping the fingers from impatiently pulling at the hem of his shirt. “You should’ve told me you were there kiddo, I was just killing time and we could have started heading out earlier.”

 

Peter peered down at the ground in an embarrassed manner, he hadn’t meant to make them late. The boy was simply anxious about interrupting the man who had clearly been working. He hated wanted to be a nuisance or annoying. 

 

Peter toed the corner of his white shoe on the sleek hardwood floor, fidgeting in a way his body was hardwired to move. Peter often joked that he was an ‘ADHD Poster Child’. He was the definition of hyperactivity, only adding to the overgrown toddler look he was currently sporting. He could never stand still, spending large amounts of time running down city blocks, or paying attention to just about anything other than what he needed to.

 

Mr. Stark seemed to sense the boy’s apprehension and in an attempt to quell the nervous fear, he reached out to ruffle his fluffy hair. “Anyways kiddo, before we head out I have to grab some things from the kitchen.” 

 

Before he had finished talking, the man was already heading to the next room over. Peter tilted his head in confusion, wondering what the man needed, but quickly followed behind not wanting to be left behind in the living room. Tony moved quickly, his gate sophisticated and mature, as the boy clumsily trailed after him like a loyal puppy dog trailing after their owner.  

 

When they reached the kitchen, Mr. Stark hastily shoved little plastic baggies of blueberries, chunks of cheddar cheese, granola bars and juice boxes into his backpack. When Peter asked what he was doing, Tony chuckled softly and responded “I’m packing snacks for when you get all cranky and hungry before we get to eat lunch”, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Nobody likes a cranky little kiddo, now do they?” He continued, reaching out to boop the boy’s nose in a condescending, yet affectionate way. 

 

When Tony was done packing the snacks, he slung the backpack over his shoulder and then herded the boy into the awaiting elevator car. They made it to the parking garage within seconds, the musty smell hitting him as soon as the doors slid open. 

 

There were rows and rows of many brightly colored and flashy sports cars glinting under the fluorescent lights, but Tony overlooked most of them in favor of choosing a more conservative (yet still clearly extremely expensive) dark blue car at the end of the row. 

 

Tony opened the passenger side door, gently pushing Peter in. He then sat went to sit on his side of the car and leaned over to click the boy’s seatbelt into place before Peter could even attempt to do it himself. “Alright kiddo, you ready to go?” 

 

Peter cheered loudly at the question, giggling and clapping his hands together in joy. “I’m super duper excited, dad!!”

 

Mr. Stark laughed softly in response. He then lit the ignition of the car, tearing out of the parking garage and onto the busy city  street.

 

Peter couldn’t help but catch his reflection in the rear-view mirror. The boy grimaced when he first saw it. The mostly faded bruises dusted across his lower eye socket and upper cheek, still looked quite garish and out of place on his white skin. It made him feel like a victim, like a loser and helpless. But the superhero band-aids on his checks made the boy feel powerful and strong. The band-aids made him feel like he truly belonged as a superhero, as Spider-Man. They made him feel like he truly could amount to something great in this world. 

 

Peter’s eyes dropped from his reflection in the mirror and down to his outfit. He worked the pads of his fingers over the soft fabric of his shirt and over the tougher fabric of his cargo shorts. He had complained about the man choosing such a juvenile outfit for him earlier in the day, but right now it only made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. It meant the world to the boy that Mr. Stark had carefully chosen an outfit just for the boy to wear. He was 15, so he didn’t necessarily need the man to do it, but it still made him feel loved. It was all the little things in life that made him feel like Mr. Stark truly did care about him. 

 

“Hey kid,” Mr. Stark started before reaching his hand out to grab his backpack and shove it into Peter’s lap. “I left a surprise for you in there! I wasn’t sure if you would want it, but I popped it in there before we went just in case.” Tony’s voice was sweet and calm like honey dripping into hot tea.  

 

Peter tentatively tugged on the zipper of Tony’s grey backpack, curious about the surprise the man had left for him. When he finished unzipping the backpack, the boy gasped when he saw the contents inside. There, sitting in the front pouch of the backpack, nestled between snacks, comic books and a package of wet wipes sat a fuzzy stuffed animal.

 

Bucky Bear stared up to him, his button eyes glinting and his smile seeming to grin up to him like he was alive. His fuzzy fabric, looked so inviting and the boy couldn’t help but snatching him from the backpack like a prized treasure. He ran the fabric over his face over and over again, letting the soft fur pass over the faded bruising on his chin and over his chapped lips and the warm blush on his cheeks . 

 

“Thank you so much Mr. Stark.” The boy whispered, the words being even more muffled by the left arm of the teddy bear being pushed snug against his lips. “It means the absolute world to me, Dad.” He continued, plopping the stuffed bear into his lap (making sure Bucky Bear was upright and flush against his chest.)

 

It truly did mean the world to the boy that Tony cared so much that he would bring Bucky Bear on their trip. Mr. Stark knew Peter had been having a more few anxiety attacks than normal as of recently. He also knew that the only thing that helped the boy calm down was his stuffed bear. Peter knew it was probably stupid, but holding a stuffed animal close to his chest made him calm down in a way nothing else did. That, and getting a hug from Mr. Stark and smelling the familiar scents of motor oil and cologne. 

 

“No problem kiddo!!” Mr. Stark exclaimed, taking one hand off the wheel in order to run it through Peter’s floppy hair. “Now let’s get going Pete, New York Science Hall here we come!!” 

 

With that the man stepped on the gas, tearing down the manhattan street towards the Queensboro Bridge. Sunshine streamed into the large glass windows of the dark blue car, making Bucky Bear’s fur appear lighter and Peter’s hair glow in the light. 

 

It was a glorious spring day, all sunshine and leaves springing forth on the few trees that lined the sidewalks of the city blocks. Outside the car, the streets were bustling with people. Dogs trotted down the sidewalk and barked happily, a little girl skipped down the sidewalk while holding her father’s hand and a couple shared a sweet kiss on the corner of a block right when the light changed to walk and a crowd rushed past them. 

 

It was quite an easy trip. They listened to Disney tunes the entire way, as the boy ran his fingers over Bucky Bear’s soft fur, bopping his head up and down to the beat and staring out the window at the swarms of passing people. 

 

The two didn’t talk much while they drove, Tony was focused on the road and Peter was too busy people watching and running his fingers over the stuffed animal’s fur. But in a strange sense, the lack of talking didn’t even matter to Peter. It was a comfortable silence between them, the cheery Disney music made the car radiate with happiness and it felt like a timeless moment.

 

However time quickly seemed to catch up on them and as it passed fast, Peter became more and more excited to head to the museum. The past few days had been hellish for the boy. The bruising on his face and twitchy attitude certainly attested to that fact. 

 

Like many LGBT teenagers, school was quite difficult for the boy. He had experienced intense bullying for years and even when he wasn’t, bigoted teachers and exclusive curriculum often left the boy feeling isolated in school. Adding in Peter’s struggles with anxiety and ADHD, school was a recipe for disaster. Sometimes he could barely step into the building without wanting to cry, other times he couldn’t sit still or pay attention and other times he felt like sleeping the entire day away, keeping his head down. Often he was a target at school and keeping his head down sometimes kept the boy safe from the bullying he relentlessly endured. 

 

After nearly an hour later, when the flashy car pulled into the parking lot of the New York Science Hall, the boy was once again bouncing up and down. The leather of the car seat creaked as he gushed on and on about all the fun things he was going to do. He hugged Bucky Bear close, sipping at a fruit punch juice box and staring up so his curls would flop backwards. 

 

When they had finished scouring the parking lot for a spot, Tony pulled into a parking spot near the end of the furthermost row. Tony tucked a baseball cap over his dark hair, pushing a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. He was clearly trying to hide his true identity, and Peter giggled at the man because he thought he looked quite silly.

 

“Oh shut up you!” Tony playfully teased, “I’m trying my best here, Pete.”

 

The man ran his hand over the brim of the baseball cap and then reached over to unbuckle Peter from the confines of his seatbelt. The boy stuck his tongue out, knowing he could do it himself, but Mr. Stark sushed him. He instead moved to gently guide the boy in returning the teddy bear to the backpack. He softly remind Peter that people might stare at him for holding the bear and even though Tony loved him either way, it might make the boy anxious.

 

The two made their way across the asphalt of the parking lot and towards the building. Their hands were linked together and Peter swung them back and forth excitedly, humming a little song about how cool the museum was.

 

When they reached the massive glass building, Tony patiently waited on line to pay for their tickets. However, the man quickly relinquished Peter’s hand and let the boy run around the entrance hall like a kid in a candy shop. He ran his small hands over every single surface of every single sign and small opening activity he could find in the entrance hall. He loved being able to touch things, feel all the different textures under his skin and psych himself up for what was to come.

 

When Tony had officially paid for their tickets and Peter had a bright purple wristband secretly taped around his wrist, the boy ran off towards the elevator (already knowing exactly where he wanted to go first). He anxiously slammed the button for the fourth floor over and over again until the elevator started to creep it’s way up.  

 

When the elevator doors slid open, sunshine streamed in from the glass ceilings. The brightly colored exhibits gleamed under the natural light and they called out to the boy to go and play with all of them. But Peter had his sights set on a certain exhibit and he grabbed Tony’s hand, pulling the man towards the giant life sized legos. 

 

Luckily, there was no one else in the already there and the boy plopped his butt onto the ground. He threw his legs out in front of him, the fabric of his cargo pants crinkling and the elastic waistband snuggly hugging the skin of his waist. His small hands reached out to grab the large plastic, brightly colored blocks. He pulled nearly a dozen of them to his body, before turning and yanking the man down to the ground to sit next to him. “Play with me please?” His voice was soft and his head was tilted. He looked like a small child, sitting there amongst the giant legos, with his floppy hair and childish outfit. 

 

Tony landed with a plop next to the boy, laughing as his butt hit the linoleum floor. “Alright kiddo! What are we building?”

 

“A tower!” Peter responded, sticking out his tongue and starting to busily stack the large blocks on top of each other. The sunlight hit made the plastic sparkle, as the blocks clicked into place and within minutes, the short boy had to stand on his tiptoes in order to reach the very top of the tower. 

 

The two males had added flourishes of finishes to their plastic tower by affixing brightly colored trim, chimneys and a moat around the edge of their plastic creation. They were so carried away that within a little more than an hour, the tower spanned the entire distance of the exhibit floor. The plastic blocks had created a fortress fit for a prince and a dragon and a million adventures for them to go on. 

 

Peter sat cross legged on the floor, his head was leaning on the flat palm of his propped up hand. Their tower was perfect, but the boy was quickly running out of steam. Peter’s stomach rumbled loudly, the cheerios and banana slices not having kept the boy sufficiently fed, and Tony quickly picked up on it. 

 

Mr. Stark bent down, crouching next to the boy and pulled the backpack close to him. “How you feeling Pete?”, the man questioned. His tone was calm and understanding, slow like he was talking to a child who needed a nap or was on the verge of a public meltdown. 

 

In all fairness, the boy was quite tired. His eyelids were drooping and his stomach rumbled. He was hungry and tired and had spent all his energy building his massive, lego fortress. 

 

As if Tony could read his mind, the man unzipped the backpack and pulled the bag of blueberries and the bag of cheddar cheese out of his bag. “Somebody is looking a little tired. How about we do a quick snack break and then head out kiddo. Does that sound alright, sweetheart?”

 

Peter was feeling a bit too bleary to respond, his head was fuzzy and his words weren’t quite working. So instead, the boy made grabby hands at the plastic bags of food, opening and closing his fingers rapidly and nodding his head. He was desperately trying to nonverbally get his point across as quickly as possible. Peter was starving and he wanted food immediately. 

 

Tony shook his head fondly at the boy, ruffling his hair and than helping him stand. When the boy was upright, the man shoved the baggies into the tired boy’s hands. “You can munch on that while we walk downstairs, kiddo.” He softly told the boy as he placed a hand on Peter’s back and helped guide him towards the elevator. 

 

The boy felt dead tired as they made their way back down the elevator and towards the parking lot. Peter knew time must be passing, but his eyelids kept falling shut and the boy barely felt the seconds pass by as they made their way back to the blue car. 

 

The boy somewhat remembered being helped into the car, his seatbelt being clicked into place by the man and Bucky Bear being tucked into the crook of his arm. He nestled into the soft fabric, pulling the stuffed animal close and snuggling into the soft fur. 

 

The boy’s head lolled to the side, Peter being almost asleep, and a sentence slipped from Peter’s mouth without even meaning it. “Thanks dad… love you”

 

Tony grinned at the half asleep boy’s words, letting the warmth of the sentence fill him up to the brim with love. He had truly loved this boy like a son for a long time, but it all seemed to be coming together in the past few days and it couldn’t have felt better. 

 

It was hard to think that they would never be pushed to the next level if an asshole at Peter’s school didn't hurt him. But Tony knew that the universe worked in strange ways and this was one of those moments most definitely. The world was rewarding them for going through so much in life and he just knew that this was all going to workout for them. They were going to be ok if it was the last thing they did. 

 

Tony turned to look at the boy. He watched the rise and fall of his chest against the boy’s teddy bear and the curls flopping into his hair and the stretch of the red Iron Man shirt across his chest. Shaking his head fondly at the boy he loved like a son, he turned to and spoke softly in order to not wake up his kid. 

 

“I love you too Peter. I really do love you like you were my own kid, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOO this is literally the most self indulgent thing I have ever written, but I have no regrets. Peter being adorable and young and needing help from his dad is just wow one of my favorite things ever. Peter deserves lots of love and good vibes and writing Peter get to heal from his bullying helps me deal with the fact that school was a shit show for this gay kiddo....
> 
> anyways that's enough of my emotional rambling. I thrive for comments, so please tell me what you think and/or just gush at me about how cute Peter is... seriously tho juice boxes and messy hair and Peter declaring he is a 'big boy' make me feel very warm and fuzzy inside !!


	3. Smushed Burger and Sharing Beds

“Can we talk about it now?” Tony took a huge bite of his double bacon cheeseburger, ketchup squirting from the side and dripping down the large bun. It had been phrased as a question, but it was clear the man was pleading with Peter. He wanted the boy to talk about his emotions and what had really happened at school yesterday.

 

Peter used the end his bright pink straw to stir the surface of his chocolate milkshake. He sucked up some of the liquid, letting it catch in the end of the straw, and then watched the ice cream splatter across the top of the cup as he blew through the straw. Using his other hand, the boy rolled the paper of the straw wrapper on the surface of their table and tapped his fingers anxiously against the wood every few seconds. 

 

Peter had known this was coming from the second the two entered his favorite burger joint in all of Queens. He knew Mr. Stark was going to ask what had happened, and push the boy to open up.  

 

He wanted to pretend to not know what Mr. Stark was talking about. Keep his head down and play dumb with the man. But Peter knew exactly what he was asking and maybe talking about it with the man would be a good thing. Maybe Tony could actually help with the situation or simply provide love and support to the boy. 

 

Peter reached his hand, the one that had previously been playing with the straw wrapper,  down to grab the backpack that leaned against the side of their red, vinyl booth. Quickly unzipping the bag, he reached inside for the stuffed Bear he knew was hidden in its depths. 

 

Plonking the bear into his lap, the teenager ran his fingers over the soft fur in a calming manner. Taking a final bite of his veggie burger, Peter cleared his throat. One hand still nervously played with the straw, stirring his milkshake until it sloshed over the edges, as the boy started talking.

 

“I guess we can talk about it now, Mr. Stark. But to be honest, I am scared that you’re gonna react badly when you hear what actually happened.” Peter could see Tony’s entire body tense in apprehension at those words, but he tried to ignore it. Watching a long trail of chocolate milkshake drip onto the table, Peter continued talking anyways.

 

“If it’s ok, I want to be a hundred and ten percent honest with you about what’s going on” Tony shook his head immediately, clearly urging the boy to continue talking. “You obviously know that I’m queer and a science nerd and all that stuff. You know that I sometimes get anxiety attacks or feel overwhelmed and just need a break from things or I need to hug Bucky Bear like a dumb little kid or something  like that.” Tony nodded his head once again, “Well other people, like school people, also know about this stuff. And I’m proud about all of these things and love myself… I guess and I mostly believe all that stuff you’re always lecturing me about, but people at school make it really hard to love myself sometimes.”

 

Tony’s eyes looked like storm clouds as the teenager shared. He looked apprehensive for the boy to continue, yet it was clear the man knew what was coming and it was also clear that he was not happy about it. 

 

“It’s really hard to love yourself when people make fun of you and well there's this kid named Flash,” Peter took a deep breath in, “and he’s been bullying me really really badly… for well years. And um… lately it’s been getting worse and worse and yesterday, well yesterday was probably the worst it has literally ever been. Yesterday he cornered me in the hallway and he called me all these really horrible homophobic names and slurs and well,” Peter gestured to his face vaguely, “he um… well he did this too.”

 

Peter said the words like he was ripping off a band-aid, quickly and with no regard for the consequences the words could garner. He needed to be honest with Mr. Stark no matter what. He needed the man’s help and he also needed his love and for him to listen to him and take his story seriously.  So many adults had accused him of lying when it came to the bullying and his entire spirit would break if his dad thought he was lying as well. 

 

Peter however immediately regretted telling the man when he saw Tony’s reaction. The man had squished his bacon cheeseburger in his bare hands, ketchup and pickles and cheese and ground beef all running down his tan skin and clumping at the hem of his dark grey blazer. His mouth hung open in a shocked position, pearly white teeth glistening with moisture, and his skin was tinted bright red with anger.  

 

Peter let his hand drop from the straw and pulled Bucky Bear close to his chest, burying his face in the soft fabric and trying to hold back the tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. Perhaps honesty was not the best policy in some cases. Maybe he should have lied in order to protect himself from being judged from this man he loved so dearly or bent the truth to make the situation sound even a little bit better than it truly was. 

 

He had never told anyone, bar Ned and that was only because his best friend was more often than not there, about the full extent of Flash’s bullying. No one knew about the physical abuse he had suffered for years, or the homophobic slurs that felt ingrained in his mind or the taunts thrown at him every single day. No one knew about any of it, because Peter had worked hard to keep it that way. 

 

It was the combination of Flash’s threats to turn on Ned and his pride that had kept the boy silent for years. And perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut and himself silent for years more. No one needed to know about what Flash did to him. He could handle it himself and he didn't need to go telling someone else like he was some big tattle tale cry baby. It was his own dirty little secret and for the longest time he felt like he would do anything to keep it that way.

 

At least he used to be willing to do anything. But now that he was sitting in his favorite restaurant, Bucky Bear pulled close to his face, drinking a really yummy chocolate milkshake, eating his favorite black bean burger and spending time with his dad; well now, Peter felt like he might want to tell someone. Because maybe if he told his dad about the bullying, Tony would help him and he wouldn’t have to be so afraid of Flash anymore. He could be free from the taunting and the bullying and the bruises and the slurs. And if he was free, maybe he could finally be happy. 

 

At that exact moment, as if snapping back to attention like a rubber band released after being pulled tight, Tony grabbed a napkin and started wiping his hands and wrists clean of the remnants of his squashed burger. The man’s face was still an angry red color, but it was clear he was trying to calm down for Peter’s sake. He was taking slow, deep breaths at even intervals. Clenching and unclenching his fist methodically, as if wanting to punch someone who was not currently present. 

 

The thought of Tony hurting Flash made Peter even more upset. The boy hated violence and he never wanted anyone to get hurt (even when they totally deserved it). All he wanted was warm hugs from his dad and fuzzy pajamas and hot chocolate with mini marshmallows and the ability to heal with the ones he loved in a place where he felt truly and undeniably safe. He couldn’t heal when he was terrified and his body was screaming at him that he was in danger.  

 

A wet tear dripped down the arch of his face and onto Bucky Bear’s dark brown fur. Peter hadn’t realized he had been crying, until sobs wracked his body like claps of thunder and his bear was sodden with tears and snot disgustingly dripping down his face and landing on the fur of his treasured stuffed animal. The boy used the arm of the bear to dry the tears falling down his face and tried to choke his words out from between his sobs. “I just don’t want to be hurt anymore dad. I’ve tried so hard to be a good boy and keep quiet and not make a big fuss, but I hate when he hurts me and I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do it, please don’t make me do it.” The boy begged between his sobs, holding onto his bear like the stuffed animal was a life line. “I just want to be happy and not scared at school for once in my entire life.”

 

Tony reached out his arm, the warmth of his hand encircling Peter’s wrist and pulling the boy’s hand to tightly grasp his own. The warmth of Tony’s palm connected with Peter’s own cold hand and helped him feel grounded, It helped connect him to this moment in time and the safety Mr. Stark’s presence provided. 

 

When the man spoke, it was like a tidal wave of emotions went crashing into the boy’s body.  “No one is ever going to hurt you again Peter, I promise.” 

 

The man’s voice cracked with raw emotion as his fingers ran soothing circles into the cool skin on the back of Peter’s hand. “I hate seeing you like this, Pete. I want to help you and with your permission, I really want to talk to the principal about Flash. What he’s doing to you is seriously not ok Peter and not only do I want to help you feel safe and happy, I also need you to understand why it’s not ok.” 

 

Peter tried to bury his face into Bucky Bear’s fur once again, but Tony used his other hand to catch Peter’s jaw. He forced the teen to look into his dark eyes, trying to convey as much emotion as possible. 

 

Peter squirmed under the man’s intense gaze. He desperately wanted to look away, but he was unable to and was stuck staring at the man’s dark, stormy eyes. 

 

“I need you to listen to me when I say this Peter,” Tony’s voice was deep and rumbling, commanding the attention of the small boy with ease. “I know how you think Peter, heck if you were my biological son I would think it was genetic because we think in the exact same way, me and you. I know you think this is your fault, or that you deserve this or some shit as equally dumb as that. But you and I both know this is not on you and I refuse to let you self destruct to the point where you blame yourself for other people hurting you. You are so much stronger than anyone in this entire world and you are going to be ok Peter. I promise that one day you are going to feel so much better than to you do tonight, but it’s not going to magically happen overnight. Healing takes time and you have to let yourself take that time to heal kid. You need to stop pushing yourself past your breaking point and just take a second to breath. It’s ok to let go and let someone else take charge. It’s ok to just focus on getting better and leave everything else to me or the other adults in your life who care about and love you.”

 

At this point, Peter had long since stopped moving around in his seat and he was staring contently and with deep focus straight into the man’s dark brown eyes. The overwhelming need to look away had faded and he was focusing on the weight of the man’s words and the tone of his voice. He knew Tony was right, but he hated admitting it. Peter hated feeling weak and dumb or like he was unable to control his life. He hated needing help from someone, especially not someone he looked up to so much; he just wanted everything to stop for a single second and to be able to breathe deeply once again and focus on his happiness rather than worrying about how to make his pain feel better. 

 

As if sensing the boy’s discomfort Tony let go of the boy’s joy, reaching up to swipe a finger across his brightly colored band-aids and then dropping his hand all together.  “Now finish your milkshake kiddo, I don’t want it to melt on you and I paid good money for your sugar high.”

 

And with that, like a light switch had flicked on, the old Tony was back. He dipped half a dozen fries at once into barbecue sauce, only glancing once at the remnants of his smashed burger. The man went as far as taking a clean napkin and draping it over the smushed up food. He didn’t want any reminder of the conversation they had just had, a reminder of how out of control he had truly felt in that moment. He didn’t want to remember his bright red face or the mourning of his child’s innocence, stolen by a coward who liked to hurt people for fun, or the way the kid looked so dejected and hurt. 

 

Peter tentatively sat the stuffed bear on the surface of the table, careful to avoid the remains of the bacon cheeseburger or little drops of milkshake staining the table. He knew it was childish to keep the bear next to him when his anxiety level had since decreased (if only minimally); but the bear made him feel safe and if he was going to finish this uncomfortable situation, he wanted Bucky Bear’s support. 

 

Dried tears stuck to Peter’s eyelashes, making them clump and stick together. The bruises on his face had faded more with the passing of time during the day and they now were almost completely healed. Right under his eye, slightly above the band-aids, sat the last remains of the bruises. The yellows hues nearly faded into his paper white skin, sitting there like little buttercups or dandelions or daisies.  

 

By tomorrow, the bruises will have completely faded and the band-aids will have peeled off. On Sunday morning, the boy will wake up looking completely normal, yet still holding internal wounds that refused to heal, regardless of the physical remnants having gone. 

 

“I really want to heal, dad.” Peter said, before taking a long sip of his melting chocolate milkshake. “Today was really nice, and I had so much fun at the science museum, but it was also really emotionally intense. Maybe tomorrow we can just have a chill day, watch some movies or something. It’s Sunday and like I already did my homework and stuff, so we could just take it slow…” Peter was rambling slightly, unsure of what Tony would say to him in response. 

 

But Mr. Stark’s face lit up in the usual lopsided grin he reserved for only his kid to see. “I think that sounds like a great idea.” He then leaned forward on his elbows, avoiding the smushed up food, looking at the boy straight in the eyes. 

 

“Do you trust me, Pete?” His voice was as intense as a blazing fire, “Because if you trust me I have an idea that I think you would like, but I’m not going to push you to do anything if you don’t trust me or don’t want to try. If you do however, we can start my little experiment right now and see how it goes tomorrow. It might help you feel better kiddo, but again I’m not going to push you if you don’t want it.”

 

Peter was confused by the question, wondering what the man was propositioning. The man made it sound mysterious, yet appealing all at the same time. The boy wasn’t usually one to take risks, but maybe today would be the day he started. Peter explicitly trusted Tony Stark with his life. He was in fact the person Peter trusted more than anyone else in the entire universe and he knew the man always had his best interest and well being in mind. Tony would never do anything to hurt him, he cared too much. 

 

With that in mind, Peter quickly shook his head yes. He definitely wanted to try and of course he trusted his dad, why wouldn’t he?

 

“Alrighty then, we’re going to have so much fun sweetheart!” Tony exclaimed, leaning back from where he had propped his elbows up on the table. He looked as if he was deep in thought, his mind going a mile a minute and it made Peter wonder if he had made the correct decision. But within a single second, he jumped into action as if he had been shocked by an invisible electric current or been doused in freezing cold water.

 

The man hastily opened his wallet, rifling through it to find a stack of folded money. He threw a few hundred dollar bills, far more than the price of their cheap diner meal, down on the table within a second of opening the worn leather wallet. They landed in a little puddle of chocolate milkshake and Tony threw down another 50, as if apologizing for getting the bills dirty and wet. Money was easy for Tony and it was clear the man had no problem flaunting that fact  and helping as many people he came in contact with by tipping exuberantly. 

 

He also made sure to scoop up the napkin covering the squashed burger with one hand and dump in on top of his empty plate, so it was easier for the waitress to dispose off. If there was one thing Tony was not, it was inconsiderate. The media was obsessed with saying he was inconsiderate, self centered, snobby and unkind, but that was the most preposterous thing Peter had ever heard.

 

Mr. Stark tipped generously, thanked waitstaff profusely and never left a mess when he could help it. Waitstaff obviously always deserved respect in his mind, no matter their age, but he always thought even more of the young ones and was even more generous with them. They were more likely than not students trying to pay for their education and a million other expenses and they deserved respect from others for being so strong and resilient in the face of adversity. 

 

When the man was done tidying his spot and paying for their meal, he hastily went to stand over the seated boy on the opposite side of the booth. Peter attempted to stand up to leave when he saw the man. He was tried and ready to head to the car and start their journey back home, Peter smiled slightly when he realized he had thought of the tower as his home. But Tony pushed him back into the red vinyl seat before he could fully stand up. 

 

Picking up a clean napkin, the man went to wet the corner in a half empty glass of water, the paper dragging against mostly melted ice cubes and a half squeezed wedge of lemon floating in the liquid. When it was sufficiently wet he pulled it across Peter’s chin, collecting the drips of milkshake that had spilled past the corner of his lips when he had been slurping it down using  the mangled straw and made the skin on the bottom of his face sticky. Using the opposite end of the damp napkin, the man dried off the pale skin. He then gave Peter’s soft hair a gentle pat, ruffling his curls affectionately. 

 

Tony then reached over Peter’s small body to collect the stuffed bear that had been propped up next to the boy; shoving the stuffed animal into Peter’s unexpected hands and helping the boy stand all in one fluid motion. 

 

Mr. Stark then took off his own blazer, shaking it off in case any burger had stuck to the inside of the sleeve, and gently draped it over the boy’s shoulders. “Just in case you get cold outside.” He muttered as an explanation, while steering the boy to the door at the front of the restaurant and onto the mostly dark city street. 

 

It was late evening, stars and street lamps and windows in skyscrapers that looked like pinpricks in the universe all blended together to form the appearance of a city that never sleeps. Tony reached out to grab Peter’s arm as soon as they entered the parking lot, holding it like a lifeline or like Peter’s life depended on it. 

 

“I don’t want you to get lost” Tony whispered the words into the air and Peter wrinkled his nose. He was confused because why the heck would he get lost in a two minute walk to the car, but went along with it when he realized how comforting his dad's hand felt to hold. The skin was large and warm and it made him feel protected and well loved.   

 

When they got to the car, Tony once again buckled the boy into his seat. But as opposed to early, this time it felt like he was doing it in a more caring and nurturing way then before. His fingers lingered longer on the strap, adjusting it to sit just right, tugging it several times to make sure it was tight and making sure that the boy was undeniably safe in the car. At the end, the man ruffled Peter’s hair playfully and whispered that he should try to get some sleep because it was late and way past his bedtime. 

 

Peter wrinkled his nose once again because it was barely 10:30, he normally went to bed far later than 10:30 and he was always fine. He was 15 and he didn’t even have a bedtime anyways. He was a teenager, not a little kid and he could stay up however long he wanted thank you very much. 

 

The boy opened his mouth to complain, but before he could say a single word a large yawn ripped through his entire body. Maybe he was tired, he thought to himself as he snuggled into Tony’s blazer, smelling the familiar scents and feeling warm all over. The boy let his eyes drift shut lazily, it wouldn’t hurt to take a break for a moment and it wasn’t like he was giving into his dad’s bedtime if he was actually tired. 

 

In the end, the boy’s logic seemed to fail him, his exhaustion clearly winning out. Peter had told himself that he was only resting his eye’s for a single second. He wasn’t a baby and he was going to stay awake as long as he wanted to.

 

But the next memory he had was bleary. His eyelids kept dropping shut, every few seconds and the world around him was spinning. He could tell that they clearly weren’t in the same location as they were before from the little parts of the environment he could make out. Smooth concrete, fluorescent lights and the ding of the elevator doors being the most prominent of his surroundings.   

 

He knew that they were walking, as he felt every step the man took jostling his entire body. The boy was cradled into Tony’s chest. He could feel his head tucked into the space where Tony’s shoulder and neck meet, heavy against the man’s body. One of his arms was loosely wrapped around Tony’s neck, while the other cradled Bucky Bear close to his chest (the soft fur tickling the edge of his Iron Man t-shirt). 

 

The scents of motor oil and cologne were heavy in his nose, and it prompted him to close his eyes once again. Within a second he was lost again, asleep and dead weight in his dad's arms as he softly snored. Tony smirked when he heard the sound, both because he knew Peter needed the sleep desperately and he found the sound absolutely adorable. Peter sounded like a bear cub, softly snoring and snuggled up to his mama bear, in this case the mama bear being Tony himself which made the situation even cuter. 

 

The next time Peter’s eyes flicked open, his head was rested against the softest pillow imaginable. It felt like he was laying on a cloud or cotton candy or anything else unbelievably soft. All around him was a fortress of pillows surrounding the figure of the boy curled into a fetal position on the bed. The pillows created a sort of fence around him, thick and several inches high, as if whoever had created it was scared Peter would roll right off of  the bed and hurt himself. 

 

The sheets on the bed were dark grey and far too silky to be his own cotton, Avengers themed bedding. The pillow case was soft and silky against his face and Peter snuggled his face into it. The bed itself was monstrous, spanning the space of two full sized kind beds pushed together. It felt like he was a tiny island in the middle of a vast ocean, and the pillows served as the boundaries. Without them, Peter would go plummeting into the water and drown in its depths.  

 

Peter was exhausted and wanted his eyes to droop shut once more. But before they did, he felt the bed shift in the smallest way. The boy’s head blearily turned to the left at the movement, blinking rapidly and trying to let his vision focus on the sight next to him. He was exhausted sure, but sleeping in a bed with an unknown person was pretty high on his list of dumb things. 

 

Eventually he made out the form of a man laying on top of the sheets, outside of the confines of the fortress of pillows surrounding the boy. His dad’s hair stuck out in every direction and his legs were curled up close to his body, his arms holding them close to his chest. 

 

The man looked disheveled, yet perfectly at ease in his state of slumber. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a million years and Peter grinned at him before letting his own eyes flicker shut once more, maybe tonight the man would sleep peacefully for once in his life. And maybe tomorrow he would wake up well rested, ready to start Peter’s surprise day. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally need a hug so bad... but at least I can cope with really fluffy adorable fics. Anyways leave some comments pls and thanks, they make me happy and inspire me to write more !!


	4. Blueberry Chocolate Chip Pancakes and Winnie the Pooh

“Hey bud,” A warm hand shook Peter’s shoulder gently, pulling him from the fuzzy warmth of the best sleep the teen had had in months. 

 

“It’s time to wake up kiddo.” Tony’s voice was soft, warm, high pitched and overly sweet like a melted candy bar dripping with sugar. The man sounded like he was talking to a small child who couldn’t quite understand the normal tone of a full grown man, or perhaps a puppy who couldn’t truly understand english at all. He seemed to be communicated more in terms of tone and pitch and the words wrapped around Peter’s entire being like a warm hug; only serving to make the boy feel even sleepier and making him want to roll over and fall back asleep.  

 

Tony continued to shake Peter’s shoulder, getting slightly rougher as the seconds ticked by without a response (though never rough enough to actually hurt the sleeping child, only more thoroughly rouse him). But the boy was determined to ignore the sensation, rather keeping his eyes clamped shut and refusing to open them.

 

Peter rolled onto his side expecting to stretch out and let his muscles breath. But instead, his small body collided with a large stack of pillows laid out next to him on the bed with a soft ‘thump’. Frowning slightly in confusion, the boy blearily cracked open one eye  in an attempt to see what had stopped his rolling. Now that he wasn’t shrouded in sleep, he couldn’t quite figure out where he was or why there was a massive stack of pillows next to him on the bed- containing him and keeping him from moving. 

 

Sun streamed into the room from the sleek floor to ceiling windows on the other side of the bedroom. Peter’s vision danced with sunspots as he took in the sight of the numerous pillows, stacked in a sort of wall surrounding the boy, only inches away from his face. He was still confused, but for the most part it seemed like the soft wall was meant to keep the boy in place or keep him from completely rolling off the side of the bed  and crashing onto the ground.

 

The bed itself was made of expensive looking sleek, dark wood. It was adorned in hues of grey and black on the many sheets, blankets and pillows. The fabric felt smooth and silky, yet undeniably warm and cozy, no doubt having soaked in the warmth of the sun streaming in from the large windows on the wall for several hours of the morning already. 

 

Peter stretched his legs out vertically like a cat bathing in the sun. He blinked a few more times, letting his eyes focus and his irises dilute to adjust to the sunny room. He didn’t quite want to wake up, but it still felt refreshing to bathe in the warmth of the sunlight. For the first time in forever, it truly felt like he had received a full night of sleep and he was feeling refreshed, yet still lethargic and a little sleepy.

 

“Looks like someone finally decided to let me see his beautiful, big brown eyes!” Tony teased him slightly, his own warm brown eyes meeting Peter’s. The boy knew he was joking around, but he still blushed and squirmed slightly under the man’s gaze. He hated feeling embarrassed, but Tony’s teasing never felt anything but paternal and he always knew it was well intentioned and heartfelt. 

 

The man was sitting on the large bed next to him, having broken the large stack of pillows in order to sit even closer to the sleepy boy. He was wearing lounge clothing, which were most likely his pajamas from the previous night because it felt like a lazy, not changing kind of a morning already. 

 

A faded t-shirt with some sort of hard rock band logo hugged his toned torso and his bottom half sported bright green sweatpants. On the fuzzy green fabric, the word ‘smash’ was spelled out in large, blocky, purple text across the side and little hulk fists danced across the entire surface of the fabric. He looked comfortable and Peter felt a strong urge to wrap his arms around the man in a tight hug and never let go. 

 

 Tony was sitting cross legged on the bed, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees and looking quite earnest. His dark brown hair stuck up in every direction, giving him the appearance of a mad scientist, and he bit at his chapped lips every few seconds with nerves. One of his hands was still resting gently on Peter’s shoulder and the other was running across the soft grey sheets- clenching the fabric every few seconds with nerves. 

 

“I’ve been waiting to see those big brown eyes of yours all morning sweetheart.”  His voice was still soft, but this time like sunshine creeping over the skyline on the first warm morning during the beginning of spring. “I wanted to let you sleep in, cutie, because you had such a rough few days, but I was getting a little impatient waiting for you to wake up and join me, Petey.”

 

Peter smiled a large, lopsided grin at the nickname. The name sounded new and a little younger than normal, but regardless it made him happy to hear and he felt like he was glowing. 

 

 Tony’s hand caressed Peter’s shoulder as he was talking, the pads of his fingers tracing shapes into the skin and mischievously tickling every few seconds. “But now that you’re up we can get started with our patent pending super duper chill, awesometacular, lazy day.” Tony shifted, the sheets crinkling under his weight, and he used the hand on Peter’s shoulder to help the boy sit up straight. 

 

Peter was still wearing the same bright red Iron Man t-shirt and stupid elastic cargo shorts from the day before, Tony not having had patience to change the sleepy boy the night before. The shirt was now distinctly rumpled from the boy having slept in it and the once snug waistband of the cargo shorts dug into his slim waist, creating little intents in his soft skin. The boy wiggled his toes, noting that his socks and shoes had been discarded before the boy had been placed into the large bed. 

 

“Sorry about that.” Peter looked at the man with a confused expression, unsure of what the man meant by the comment. But Tony quickly clarified, “I was scared of getting you dressed into pjs or some comfier clothing  because I thought it might wake you up. So instead, I left you in your outfit from yesterday. But, it probably wasn’t super comfy to sleep in, so I’m sorry I didn’t think to change you into something else, cutie.”

 

Peter’s face turned bright red, both at the nickname and the apology (as well as the still overly sweet tone the man had). He liked to think that he didn’t need to be changed into his pajamas like some toddler who had fallen asleep in the car and been placed into their parents' bed for the night; but deep inside, he knew that he secretly didn’t mind the thought very much. 

 

“I can help you now though, kiddo” Tony added hastily, leaving no room for Peter to claim he didn’t need help as he helped guide the groggy teen to stand up. He wobbled for the first second and Tony’s hands reached out to help him stay firmly upright.  

 

Tony’s large hands quickly stripped him down to his underwear, causing Peter to blush slightly. The discarded clothing lay in a rumpled pile of fabric on the bed, the bright red of the shirt in deep contrast with the dark sheets and comforter. In a strange sense it symbolically represented the difference between Peter and Tony, and the boy laughed at that thought. 

 

Tony then slotted his hand into Peter’s, leading the sleepy boy towards his own closet. “We could head to your room kiddo, but I think you want to get out of your undies as soon as possible because it’s a little chilly and don’t think I didn’t notice your blush. It’s not a big deal though, Petey, nothing a little boy like you should worry about anyways. You’re small, but you can wear my clothing- it’ll just be a little big.”

 

Peter felt like his face had never been hotter in his entire life. His blush spread from the base of his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. The way Tony was treating him made him feel loved, yet mortified all at the same time. It felt like a huge ball of emotions was sitting like a pit in his stomach and he hated himself for being so confused. 

 

He hated himself even more for loving the way it felt. No normal teenage boy should love being treated like a toddler. They shouldn't love being treated like they were helpless, fragile and emotionally unstable. But Peter sure loved it. It made him feel better than he had ever felt before. 

 

A large shirt dropped onto Peter’s shoulders, engulfing his tiny body in it’s warmth. The shirt was so long it covered his underwear and settled at his lower thigh near his knee caps. The fabric smelled like coconut laundry detergent, Mr. Stark’s expensive cologne and motor oil. It was an intoxicating scent of safety and Peter found himself lifting the sleeve to his nose to take a large sniff- humming in approval at the scent.   

 

“You need to help me out by lifting one leg at a time, kid” 

 

Peter wasn’t quite sure how he missed Tony crouching down in front of him with a pair of Star War sweatpants in his hands. But he quickly complied, lifting his legs one at a time for Tony to pull the bunched up pants over his legs. The man than pulled the pants up and over his underwear. Pulling the drawstring snug against his waist, after rolling the waistband twice, the man then bent down once again to also roll up the too long fabric bunching at the boy’s ankles. 

 

When Tony stood again, he stared straight into Peter’s eye’s. Sensing the boy’s appreshion, he reached out a hand to run through his loose curls as he started speaking. “Hey kiddo, I know you’re probably a little spooked right now, but I need you to trust me.” Peter’s eyes flitted down, but Tony used the hand in his curls to guide his eye back to his own. “I know this is not what you want to hear, but you’re spiraling out of control kid and I can’t just sit here and watch it happen, I love you too much to not do anything about it”

 

The hand not in his hair ghosted over the mostly healed black eye on Peter’s face. “If you’re not going to take care of yourself, I’m going to take care of you. That’s my job Peter and I can’t let you destroy yourself well I sit by complacently. It’s not happening kid. And I know you are scared, but I promise it is going to be ok. All you have to do is trust me for today. I want you to just let go and let me be in charge. You are going to forget everything that’s stressing you and just focus on what I say we should do. If I say we’re going to color, we’re going to color. If I say we’re going to eat mac and cheese for lunch, we’re going to eat mac and cheese for lunch. I want you to just listen to me and focus on acting like a happy kid. Tomorrow we’re going to figure out the whole Flash situation, but today you’re just going to relax and you’re going to let me be in charge. You don’t have to worry about anything but having fun. If you have an actual problem or concern please tell me and I will stop everything and we can figure this out another way. But if you don’t, we’re going to try it my way today. Does that sound good, kiddo?” 

 

Peter nodded his head quickly, because that sounded better than good. It sounded fantastic and he truly wanted nothing more than to forget all about the hurt in his life and just let go and let Tony be in charge of the situation. 

 

Tony’s hand gave Peter’s curls one more quick ruffle before he turned on his heels, grabbing Peter’s arms and particularly skipping through the hallway and towards the kitchen on the other side of the floor. 

 

“I’m thinking of doing blueberry AND chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. You’ve had a rough few days and we can definitely benefit from living on the wild side and doing something crazy, kiddo.”

 

Tony wiggled his eyebrows at the boy as if the thought of blueberries and chocolate chips mixed together was the craziest thing imaginable. And to be fair, Peter kind of did think it was crazy to be eating such a rad breakfast. He was a disaster high school student and rarely ate breakfast on normal days, rather either ditching the first several periods to avoid Flash’s taunts and fists or running into class later after missing his train and being a completely panicked mess. Eating breakfast, especially something as yummy as chocolate chip blueberry pancakes, meant that for once in his life Peter was taking care of his body in a healthy and productive way and giving himself the proper fuel for his body to function that morning. 

 

Peter stuck his tongue out at Tony as the man pulled out a stool at the island and helped the boy get situated on the seat. The boy knew he could sit down all by himself, but he let himself be helped when he remembered the man’s earlier request to relax and let him be completely and a hundred percent in charge. He would let Mr. Stark take care of himself even if it meant doing embarrassing stuff like helping him sit at a bar stool or get dressed in new clothing.  

 

It was one of those high stools and Peter’s legs dangled about half a foot above the tile flooring of the kitchen. The boy tentatively swung his legs out, remembering what he would have done when he was a true child. He hadn’t had a stellar life when he was a little kid, never truly experiencing being small and loved and protected, so it was hard to remember what it felt like to let go and let Mr. Stark be in charge of everything. But eventually he was so hyper yet simultaneously relaxed that the boy let out a silly, high pitched giggle every time he swung his legs back and forth. He admired the nerdy Star Wars print on his sweatpants swishing back and forth and the way he felt like he was flying through the air every swing. 

 

He propped his head on the flat side of his hand, his elbow resting on the countertop, and he let his hair flop down into his face and into his eyes. His legs were still pumping back and forth enthusiastically and his mind wandered so much that he let himself believe he was actually on his swing in the park he used to go to with his parents when he was really little and before they passed away. 

 

 Through the sheen of his hair he could see Tony bustling around the kitchen, collecting ingredients and tying a frilly pink and green apron around his waist. He was humming a soft, upbeat tune and moving his hips back and forth on the beat- dancing like no one was watching. When he saw that the boy was staring at him he started to sing even louder, reaching his hand towards Peter as if he was serenading the boy and dancing even more enthusiastically. 

 

After a few minutes of Tony continuing to dance and bop around the kitchen, a small glass bowl was pushed across the counter towards him. It was filled to the brim with huge bright blueberries and mini chocolate chips. Peter worked his lips at the man in confusion. “In case you want to munch on anything well I work on breakfast.” Tony provided as an explanation, before bopping back over to the other side of the counter.

Several minutes later, when the boy was thoroughly covered in smudges of chocolate  on his cheekbones and forehead and blueberry juice all around his mouth and on his shirt, the griddle sizzled as pancake batter was poured onto the buttery hot surface. Peter’s mouth watered as he watched the batter bubble around the edges and then get flipped and finally land in a neat stack on a plate that had been placed in front of him. 

 

Tony quickly finished making three more batches of pancakes, placing the larger portion on Peter’s plate and a far smaller portion on his own plate. The boy needed extra food to support his superhuman metabolism, however he rarely asked for the amount of food he truly needed. He was afraid of being a burden on Mr. Stark or his Aunt. Food was expensive and he didn’t want to spend Aunt May’s little amount of extra money on something so stupid; in the case of Mr. Stark, he truly did not want to be seen as selfish or greedy with the billionaire's seemingly endless supply of cash. 

 

 Tony grabbed both their plates, as well as a partially used stick of butter and a sticky container of maple syrup, depositing them on the coffee table in the living room before he helped the boy walk in the same direction by guiding him by the hand. 

 

Peter fleetingly wondered if Mr. Stark would be carrying him around, nestled on his hip like a toddler, if he was a small child rather than merely a small teenager. He would cuddle him up against his chest, cradling the back of his head and supporting him with his large, warm arms. Peter doesn’t think he would mind being carried by Tony. In a strange sense he desired it deeper than any other thing in the entire world. He hadn’t had a father in so long, all he wanted was to feel loved again. 

 

His early childhood had been rocky to say the least. He had spent far too much time with tear filled eyes as he was bullied relentlessly and moved from foster home to foster home in the half a year before he was placed with his aunt and uncle. He never spent more than a few weeks at a time in a home because they never wanted a cry baby like him, a little kid who couldn’t get over his parents death or ‘move on’- regardless of the fact that it was so fresh in his young mind. 

 

Looking back on it, Peter doesn’t understand why they were obsessed with him moving on. When a young child's parents both die at once, you would think the child would be supported in their grief. The child should be loved and cherished and supported and have a constant reminder that everything was going to turn out alright.

 

 But that wasn’t how the system worked. No the system meant that Peter would be treated like a piece of garbage to be shoved between houses with far too many kids and far too little money. The system meant that he would be forced to grow up far sooner than he should’ve. It made him be an adult trapped in a small child's body.

 

Adding to that years upon years of intense bullying, resulted in Peter feeling broken for the longest time. He was terrified of his peers and normal social interactions and before Ned, he hadn’t had any friends at all. Everyone around him hurt him and it caused him to be terrified of others and mistrusting in most situations. 

 

He had struggled with his mental health and in particular self hate for years before he had become Spider-Man and the whole Homecoming fiasco had only made his post traumatic stress worse. He had a whole new set of triggers and worries and it was hard for him to deal with them on top of his previous anxieties. 

 

It also, in a sense, made the bullying worse. Knowing that you had the ability to protect yourself and actually protecting yourself were two entirely different things. It made him feel weak and pathetic and questions his bodies every preprogrammed response to stressful or scary situations (like Flash calling him homophobic slurs or hitting him).

 

Tony pushed Peter down onto the couch, draping a fuzzy blanket over his small form before turning to mess with the large TV and grabbing a few more things from other rooms. 

 

However, before he left Winnie the Pooh started playing on the screen and Peter was so enthralled with the show that he didn’t process Tony leaving the room or returning. If he had noticed, he was scared that he would freak out at the man trying to leave. He hated to admit it, but he definitely had abandonment issues and Tony leaving, even in a seemingly meaningless way, would most likely trigger a poor reaction in the boy. 

 

Tony  sat down next  to the boy, curling one arm around Peter and using the other one to lean forward and cut the large portion pancakes into chewable bites. The boy was clearly out of it by that point, because he barely noticed as Tony brought the fork up to his mouth every few seconds. Alternating between feeding himself and Peter, Tony smiled softly at the fact that Peter did not complain at all as he let himself be fed like a toddler.  

 

Peter was completely leaning against Tony by the time the man finished feeding him the last bite from large plate of pancakes. The man was now running his hands through Peter’s hair and holding him close to his body. Bucky Bear, who Tony had retrieved when he left the room earlier, had wound up squished between their two bodies as they cuddled close. 

 

“I love you, Petey.” Tony whispered and Peter smiled. He folded his body into Tony’s side- letting himself feel small and loved protected as they continued to watch Winnie the Pooh. 

 

His mind felt a little fuzzy as Tony held him close, but he wasn’t concerned because he didn’t feel bad. In fact it felt good and Peter found himself focusing only on relaxing and not getting worked up over anything. 

 

The past few days had been stressful, but right now was not the time to unpack that because in that moment he knew that he was beyond safe. The bruises had faded and his stomach was full of yummy pancakes and he was watching Winnie the Pooh and he had Tony and he was  loved. He was so unbelievably loved. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a little later than usual... life has been kicking my ass recently, but I'm pouring all my gross emotions into fluffy fanfic like this one !! 
> 
> Comments are better than chocolate chip blueberry pancakes, so please leave some !!


	5. Mac and Cheese and Tickle Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> major good vibes and thanks to Ashleyparker2815 who is literally the sweetest person ever and not only gave me ideas for this chapter, but also pushed me to post by telling me how much they liked this fic !! They're super sweet and you should definitely check out their work because it's amazing !!

Peter blinked his eyes blearily, his eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings or rose petals falling from flowers in a warm spring breeze. His mind felt fuzzy and he felt like he was stuck half way between being awake and asleep. He wasn’t sure if he had ever been truly asleep, but Winnie The Pooh had been turned to mute in the background and there was a half warm puddle of drool soaking into the soft pillow his head was leaning on; and the fuzzy blanket was wrapped around his body in a way that could only have happened from a restless body moving in sleep. 

  


The boy felt his face tint bright red when he realized that the drool had been a result of spit leaking from the space between where his fingers were in his mouth and the corner of his lips. He wasn’t sure why he was sucking his fingers, it felt quite infantile…not that anything today hadn’t felt infantile, but it also made him feel warm and fuzzy and safe. 

  


He gave the fingers an experimental suck, rolling his tongue over his skin. Surprisingly, it felt soothing and Peter found himself smiling softly and then sucking harder. It turned into a rhythm, Peter sucking on the fingers of one hand while using the other hand to  run over the fuzzy surface of the blanket. 

  


It embarrassed the boy slightly, but his entire life he had been obsessed with textures- especially soft ones. He could spend hours enthralled by the way warm blankets or stuffed animals felt on his skin, or the way soft skin felt under the pads of his fingers. 

  


“Hey, sweetheart, you awake for good this time?” Mr. Stark asked in a tone so sweet it sounded like he was talking to a toddler. 

  


It was the first time the boy noticed that the man was sitting next to him on the couch and Peter went to pull the fingers out of his mouth, embarrassed. It was one thing to enjoy the infantile finger-sucking when he thought he was alone, but it was an entirely different thing to let somebody else in on the actions that made him feel safe, yet like a child. 

  


But Tony was having none of that. He started at Peter with such determination and love that the boy wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around the man’s body and never let go. He wanted to be loved and hugged and kissed on the forehead and more than anything else in the world, he wanted the man to take care of him. 

  


Tony wrapped his larger, calloused hand around Peter’s own small hand in his mouth. He held it firm, not letting Peter move. The boy knew he would be able to break away if he really wanted to, but he liked feeling small and almost helpless in Tony’s hands so let it happen, while letting his super strength fade to the back of mind. He was with Mr. Stark and he was being protected and the man wanted him to be happy and that was all that mattered to him anyways. 

  


“It’s ok if you want to suck on them,” Tony said, using the overly sweet tone once again. “I want you to be happy and I promise I’m not judging you. If it makes you happy, it makes you happy cutie. I’m just here to help you do the things you know make you happy already and discover what you don’t know that will make you happy as well.” 

  


Peter face was bright red at Tony’s encouraging words and he tilted his head down, staring at his lap as the man continued speaking. “I bet you’re pretty sleepy, kid. You were in and out of it for a while, but I’m hoping that final quick nap helped.”

  


Peter felt like his entire face was on fire. He had never blushed this much in his entire life and part of him wanted to melt into the floor. But the larger part of him wanted to let Mr. Stark treat him as young as he currently was. He wanted to let Mr. Stark wrap him up in a protective hug and play with his hair and help him with everything and he wanted to be loved- he needed to feel loved. 

“I’m thinking I can set you up coloring.” Tony started, rubbing the pads of his fingers over Peter’s hand, still not letting go. “I printed a Cinderella coloring sheet just for you while you were napping and I got it all ready for you.” 

  


True to Tony’s words, there was a Cinderella themed coloring sheet sitting on the coffee table, next to what Peter swears is nearly fifty crayola crayons. There are crayons in every hue and shade of every color of the rainbow, as well as four different blacks and two whites. It looks extravagant and Peter feels a mixture of guilt and confusion. 

  


He hated when Mr. Stark spent so much money on him. He had grown up with close to nothing in so many situations. He was the kid on reduced lunch at school and on scholarship and it made him the target of horrible, classist bullies. He never had enough money for food or clothing or backpacks growing up and he was used to going without. 

  


But then there was Tony. Tony who would special order crayons for him and take him to his favorite museum and buy him whatever his heart ever desired. Sometimes Peter worried that Mr. Stark may confuse his money for showing affection, but he never did. Mr. Stark would show him love even if he was homeless and living on the streets. His money was merely a tool to show Peter that love and the boy deeply understood that. 

  


Peter nodded his head, still keeping his fingers in his mouth, because he truly did want to color and use all the cool crayons that Mr. Stark had gotten him. He wanted to play and color and let everything else fade into the background. 

  


Tony smiled in response, finally releasing the boy’s hand, and then helping Peter maneuver onto the floor. The man had set up a pile of pillows on the floor and Peter’s small frame sunk into the little nest of cushions. Bucky Bear was placed on his lap, the bear’s floppy limbs spread over his small legs.

  


Using the hand not in his mouth, Peter grabbed a handful of blue and silver crayons. Tony settled into the couch with a Starkpad to do some work, as the boy scribbled away at the coloring sheet. His tongue stuck out of his mouth in concentration as he draw and within twenty minutes, Cinderella and her two mice friends were completely filled in. 

  


He glanced up at Mr. Stark. The man looked completely concentrated, one hand flying across the Starkpad and the other tapping the surface of the couch, and Peter wanted nothing more than to go sit in his lap and let the man play with his hair. But he didn’t want to be a burden and  Peter didn’t want to interrupt the man while he was working. 

  


So instead he grabbed red, gold and blue crayons and started free hand scribbling. He drew Spider-Man swinging from the top of the page, Iron Man quickly following behind with his gauntlet out. He then drew a large, bright yellow sun with sunglasses and a smile and a blue sky with fuzzy, pink clouds and butterflies. 

  


When his coloring page was completely full of sketches and ideas, nearly an hour and a half later, Peter started thinking of ideas for why Iron Man and Spidey had to protect Cinderella. Maybe Cinderella was being bullied just like Peter was and Mr. Stark had to save her as well. Peter started babbling to himself quietly about how Mr. Stark was going to save her because he saved Peter and he was the best, best, best. 

  


A plastic bowl of macaroni and cheese, a small plate of cut up fruit and a plastic cup of water clattered against the coffee table, startling Peter from his babbling, and Tony plopped next to him on the ground. “It’s lunch time, kiddo!” Tony shoved a plastic fork into Peter’s hands, the boy wasn’t sure when the man acquired so much plastic cutlery and dishes, before digging into his own bowl of mac and cheese. 

  


The mac and cheese was delicious, smooth and creamy and cheesy, and Peter smiled. “Thanks for the mac and cheese.”

  


Tony ruffled his hair, “Don’t speak with your mouth full, cutie. But you’re welcome.” He ran his fingers through Peter’s hair one more time. “Don’t forget to eat your fruit as well.”

  


Peter popped a large chunk of pineapple into his mouth, juice dripping down his bare hands. The man chuckled at him, while scooping some of his own mac and cheese into Peter’s bowl. Peter was unsure if it was due to Tony wanting Peter to eat more or for Tony to eat less. 

  


He hated thinking that Tony would be fueled by his own reckless abandon about his health. But he knew Mr. Stark quite well and it wouldn’t surprise him. Tony was terrible at taking care of himself. He had a hard time eating at the right times or even at all sometimes and Peter used to blame it on the man simply forgetting that food existed. 

  


But Tony always remembered to feed Peter without fail and that made the boy blame Mr. Stark’s poor eating habits on self hate. It made Peter want to cry out and scream because Tony was perfect and amazing and everything the boy loved in this world. He didn’t want to have to think about the man hating himself so much that he would go above forgetting to eat and deny himself the nutrients he needed to survive. 

  


“You’re such a messy, kiddo.” Tony’s eyes were bright and shining and Peter found the concern slip away from him like snow melting in the spring.“You’re  **my** messy kiddo, though.” He added softly and in such a way Peter felt like he was going to melt into a pool of happiness and love and undying affection from the man. 

  


He loved being referred to as Tony’s kid, even when Tony was gently teasing him. It made him feel loved and like he had a place. He was Tony’s kid and that meant that he was one of the most important people in Tony’s life. It filled him with awe to think that he actually meant that much to the man, Peter’s own self hate creeping into his mind, but he kept on reminding himself that he deserved to think about himself as somebody important. He was important to Tony and that meant that he had value. 

  


Peter popped another tart piece of pineapple into his mouth, ignoring the ay it mixed with the taste of mac and cheese. He chewed slowly and focused on living in the moment and cherishing the feeling of every little moment between him and Tony. 

  


The rest of lunch went quickly and in almost complete silence. Both Tony and Peter were quite hungry and they scarfed down their mac and cheese, and fruit for Peter, in haste. Often silence was uncomfortable, but their silence was warm and welcoming. 

  


When they finished, Tony dipped the corner of his napkin in Peter’s plastic cup of water and wiped the boy’s face off. Peter scrunched his nose up, but he was compliant and he let Tony clean him up. 

  


“That’s a good boy.” Tony soothed and Peter felt his face tint red. He hadn’t known that being called a good boy would make him feel so complete, but something about the way Tony said it made his entire body feels like it was glowing.

  


“Am I really a good boy?” Peter tilted his head to his side, his fingers had made its way back into his mouth and he nipped at the fruity residue. 

  


Tony smiled at him, leaning forward and planting a soft kiss on his forehead. “You’re the best boy in the entire world, Petey!” 

  


Peter’s smile was large and lopsided and he bounced up and down on his butt, quickly scrambling up and then bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “I’m the best boy, the best, best boy!”

  


“It’s true,” Mr. Stark laughed, smiling fondly at the boy and getting up as well. But then his warm smile turned to a smirk, “Even good boy’s can’t escape from the tickle monster, though. You and Bucky Bear better hide little boy!”

  


Peter scooped up the bear, laughing so hard his sides hurt. He then went barreling through the room at top speed, his bare feet slapping against the ground as he ran away from Tony. 

  


One arm was out to the side, flapping his arm like a bird and the other arm held Bucky Bear above his head. “He’s flying! Bucky Bear’s flying and flying bears always can escape the tickle monster!” He exclaimed, his giggling sounding like the personification of warm rain and windchimes on beachside shacks and little yellow and white flowers growing underneath park benches and rusted swing sets.

  


Tony’s own feet pounded against the ground behind him as he chased the boy. “The tickle monster is going to get you and Bucky Bear!” He screamed in a silly, overly deep tone. “You can’t escape me no matter how cute you are.”

  


Peter giggled once again, before pushing his lip out in a pout. “Nuh uh, the tickle monster will never get me.”

  


“Whatever you say, kid.”  Tony’s deeper laughs mixed with Peter's giggles and it was the most domestic, wholesome sound Peter had ever heard in his life. “The tickle monster never loses.” 

  


It turned out that Tony was right, the tickle monster never loses, and within a second his fingers were digging into Peter’s sides. The boy squirmed and flailed, crying out and laughing so hard he feared that he might wet himself. 

  


“The tickle monster in victorious!” Tony exclaimed, digging his fingers further in until Peter’s body was entirely off balance. He was squirming and giggling and flailing until  **whap.**

  


Pain exploded in Peter’s skull as he toppled forward and his head hit the corner of the coffee table. He felt like he was in shock as big, fat, hot tears sprung to his eyes and then like fingers snapping his body was jostled back into the present and he started sobbing at the intense pain.

  


His head hurt so much and he was confused and disoriented and the pain felt like it was under a microscope. He felt like a live end of wire and he thrashed and contorted as Tony’s hands reached forward and lodged themselves under his armpits, trying to pull him away from the offending table. 

  


“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Tony’s voice was wet, as if he was crying himself, as he spoke soothing words. “You’re going to be ok, cutie. I promise. You’re going to be fine, it’s just a little boo-boo, you’re ok. Cutie, you’re going to be ok. You’re fine, Petey. ” 

  


Tony’s muscles strained as he struggled to pick Peter up. It was hard because Tony wasn’t particularly huge and it didn’t help that the boy was struggling against him. Peter didn’t want to act like a baby who needed to be comforted after he was hurt. He didn’t want to burden Tony and he felt embarrassed and he was in so much pain. It hurt so much. It hurt. It hurt. 

  


He felt like the entire day of fun and playing and good times he had with Tony was fading away. He just felt like a dumb teenager playing at something he wasn’t. He felt like he was tricking everyone, tricking Tony into thinking that he needed love and protection and good things and he wanted out. He didn’t want to make Tony deal with him. He didn't want to ruin the positivity and love with tears and whining and pain.

  


But then Tony was pulling the smaller boy onto his lap and his apprehension disappeared within a second. Peter melted into his skin, all his fears and insecurity leaving like it was being washed down the drain. The boy swore Tony had some sort of magic, because his touch alone was enough to not only soothe the boy, but also make him feel like everything in this entire world was going to be ok again. 

  


He pressed his ear against Tony’s heart, listening to it beat and trying to even his breath out to match the man’s own breathing. Tears still ran down his face, but at this rate they matched the dull throb of his head that was already slowing down, instead of the erratic pace it had previously been. 

  


“Hey now,” Tony ran his hand from the base of Peter’s back all the way up his neck several times, before finishing by ruffling the boy’s hair softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t being more careful.” He whispered, while continuing to play with the boy’s hair. “It was my job to be careful and your job to let go. I was supposed to take care of you and let you feel little and young and carefree. I failed you. I failed you so bad, Peter and I’m so sorry. I’m a horrible person and you probably never want to talk to me again.”

  


Peter took a shaky breath in, trying to stop himself from completely freaking out. He hated hearing Mr. Stark speak in such a self deprecating manner. He loved Tony more than just about anyone, god he really loved Tony, and he didn’t want him to beat himself up over this. In fact he wanted Mr. Stark to truly understand that despite him getting hurt, Tony was still giving him more love and affection and peace of mind and body than anyone had ever had in his life. Tony wasn’t  failing him because he was only human and humans make mistakes. 

  


But the words felt stuck in his throat and he wasn’t sure how to express that all to Tony like the young adult Peter knew he wasn’t acting like. The boy wasn’t stupid, he knew that teenagers didn’t act the way he did. He knew that other teenagers didn’t love being  cuddled and coddled and helped with everything. They didn’t like having help getting dressed and eating and they didn’t like being treated like they were a decade younger than they were. 

  


That knowledge caused insecurity to creep through his veins like weeds. His fears and doubts taunted him, screaming at him that he was bad and stupid and young and that he didn’t desrve Tony’s love.  

  


But at the same time, how Tony treated him made him feel safer than he had ever felt in his entire life. His actions made him feel small and young and protected and he cherished those  feelings more than he cherished anything else in this world. He had spent far too long being beaten down, bullied and hurt and all he needed was a little but of love and kindness and support. 

  


Peter wiped his face against Tony’s shirt like a cat, simultaneously ridding his face of trails of dried tears and the last of the wet ones as well. He also found comfort in the feeling of the soft fabric of the shirt. 

  


Tony tightened his grip on the boy, pulling him impossibly closer and in the process Peter felt his butt fall even further into Tony’s lap. His face was red like an overripe strawberry or rose petals.  But he wasn’t exactly embarrassed- only feeling small and confused and happy and a little but fuzzy. 

  


“I love you, Peter.” Tony whispered into his hair before pressing his lips to the pulsating spot where his head had connected with the table. It was now throbbing dully and Peter swore the kiss made it feel strangely better. Mr. Stark must have some sort of magical healing kisses power. 

  


“You don’t deserve boo-boos just because I messed up.” Tony kissed the spot again, transferring every bit of emotion from the contact into the kiss. 

  


Peter squirmed in the older man’s lap, finally forcing his words to work. “You didn’t mess up” The boy insisted quickly. He moved his head to be off of Tony’s chest and instead he was staring up at the man- trying to convey every ounce of love and adoration he had for the man in his glance. “I promise you didn’t mess up” He insisted again, because he truly didn’t want the perfect man he was sitting on to feel bad or like he ruined something special between them. 

  


“We were just playing, Mr. Stark. And sometimes people get hurt when they play, but that’s alright. I promise it’s alright.”

  


Tony was looking at him with more love and devotion and warmth than Peter had ever seen in his entire life. He looked like Peter was his favorite person and the man held onto the boy tightly, as if wanted nothing more than to never let the boy go again. 

  


“When I saw the bruise on your face a few days ago, I felt like I was seeing red. It made me so scared to think that somebody had hurt you and that I wasn’t able to do anything to stop it.” He ran his hand over Peter’s tear stained face, tracing the area in which the bruise had been before it had faded. “I’m Iron Man and I know I could kick their butts if I wanted to, which makes me feel even sadder. I’m Iron Man and I couldn't even protect my own kid from a bully.”

  


Peter felt tears run down his face once more, like raindrops rolling down a car window. He hated that Mr. Stark felt this way and he wanted nothing more than to make it all better and promise the man that it was all going to be alright. But he also wanted to be selfish for once in his life and focus on letting go and being distinctly not in charge of his happiness or anyone else's happiness for that matter. 

  


Peter stuffed his fingers into his mouth, sucking on them like his life depended on it. He didn’t want to be in charge right now and he wanted to let go. He needed to let go. 

  


As if reading Peter’s mind, Tony softly added to his last words. “ I’m sorry for trying to put it on you, Petey. You should just relax.”

  


Tony held Peter tightly, squeezing him and planting another kiss on his head. “You’re my baby Peter and I don’t know what I would do without you… I would do anything to keep you safe and happy” 

  


Peter felt a soft tear fall down his face and Tony caught it with the pad of his thumb. He’s not sure if he’s crying because he’s happy or because he’s not sure what he would do without Tony either. He wants to think he would be ok, but he’s almost sure that he wouldn’t be ok. Part of him thinks that he would simply fall apart without Tony and that part of him scares him far more than the part that likes when Tony treats him like a child. 

  


Peter leaned his head against Tony’s shoulder. He sucked methodically on his fingers and focused on the weight in his mouth and the feeling of his body in Tony’s lap. Every contact between them felt like he was touching liquid sunshine. He felt like he was high on his own happiness and the feeling of being loved by the man. 

  


“I love you too, Mr. Stark.” Peter mumbled around the fingers in his mouth. His head still hurt, but by this point it was a dull throb at the very back of his mind thanks to his super healing; and the only thing that mattered was reminding Mr. Stark how much he loved him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooooooooo sorry this took me so long to post, I have too many WIPs and sometimes life kicks ass. Also you m ay have noticed that I changed this from 6 parts to 8 ... and that's really just because it would've been impossible for me to finish all my thoughts in just one more chapter. 
> 
> .... there's also gonna be a sequel, like it's already planned out in my handy dandy fanfic notebook 
> 
> Leave a comment, they fuel me !!!


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